The Caged Bird's Song
by K'sChoiceofAFI
Summary: Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition and zest for life restored by a reticent inmate and her band of detainees.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by an infuriating inmate and her band of detainees.

**A/N**: After marathoning the hell out of _Orange is the New Black _and _Wentworth_, I've combined some of the plots of both shows, and added a Glee spin on it. Both shows are completely awesome and highly recommended. I hope you all enjoy the fic!

* * *

At age twenty-three and fresh out of college, Rachel had once expected a myriad of accomplishments to already be under her belt. She had expected to have her own apartment in New York, and wait tables during the day while starring in Broadway plays at night. She had expected to be passionately and wholeheartedly in love with someone who supported her career and could handle her more neurotic tendencies. She had expected to be signing autographs and to be that much closer to her first Tony award.

One thing she hadn't expected, however, was to be in prison.

Well, not _in_ prison as an inmate so much as _in_ prison as in working in one. But if it was one thing all the prison documentaries she had binge-watched over the weekend had taught her, it was that working at a prison was only one step above actually _being_ incarcerated. The only perk was that she got to go home at the end of the day and enjoy a nice, fungus free shower. And she supposed twenty-four-seven visitation rights with her family was another joy. But really, she hadn't expected to be ripped from New York City and thrown right back into the fishbowl that was Lima, Ohio straight out of college, or ever really. She had worked her ass off to ensure she never had to return and yet…here she was.

Rachel slid out of her car with more than a little apprehension. Perhaps she should have thought twice before agreeing to this job. But she was more than a little poor, and working in the education department of the Lima Penitentiary was one of the only jobs that paid more than minimum wage, and one of the only jobs she applied for that actually called her back. Student loans weren't going to pay themselves, and she had spent six months in New York searching for theater work before she moved back, unable to keep up the rent on her apartment, and knee deep in loans to repay.

Smoothing down the collar of her maroon button up blouse, Rachel closed her car door and walked toward the prison gates. It looked as dreary as Rachel imagined, and she wondered if all the documentaries were true—that prison was nothing more than a zoo inhabited by cold-blooded killers, rapists, and repeat offenders who just couldn't get it right. Her throat bobbed with a tight swallow as she wondered how this became her life. She was meant for bright lights and legions of fans, not working somewhere as potentially dangerous as a prison. It wasn't fair to the hours, years she had slaved over perfecting her talent for it to fall by the wayside in such a disappointing way.

But she told herself there would always be time for her career, that her talent had staying power, and that there would always be a chance for her to be famous. As she walked up to the eight foot high gate and pressed the intercom button, it was all she could tell herself to get her through.

"Yes, hello?" a male voice, thickened with an accent spoke.

Rachel pressed a green button and spoke into the receiver. "Hi—yes. I'm Rachel Barbra Berry. I'm the new employee in the education department. And I'm here to report for work."

It was silent for a moment, and she glanced around, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She didn't know how prison worked, but she assumed prisoners weren't allowed beyond the gates. So technically, she was safe.

She jumped when a loud horn blared while the gates opened to allow her entry. Recovering, Rachel placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart and walked through the gates.

They closed with finality behind her.

Heels clacked against the tilted floors as Rachel strolled through the door and into the prison. She glanced down at the checkered floors, then around the room to take in her surroundings. There were a few people to her far right sitting on a couch, and a line of people walking through a metal detector directly in front of her. Unsure of where she was supposed to go, she hesitantly walked forward and filed in line. When it came her time to pass through, she froze in confusion. "Umm, do I—"

"Place your briefcase on the table to be searched then pass through the line," the officer instructed in a blasé voice. He was a slim man of medium height and spiked hair.

Rachel nodded hurriedly and placed her briefcase of lesson plans on the table to be searched by him as she walked through the metal detector. She was handed her briefcase a moment later. "If I were you I'd take off that ring and hide it before an inmate steals it. Or worse, finds a way to kill you with it."

Horror stricken, Rachel gawked at him.

He shrugged. "They're creative that way."

She pried the ring off her finger, thanking him quietly before traveling through the double doors on her left, the only exit. She walked through the narrow hallway and spied the camera in a corner of the ceiling at the end of the hall with a sigh. No, she wasn't a prisoner, but she may as well have been. There was a buzz then a clank as the door unlocked and she pushed her way inside.

Fear shot down her spine and she stopped cold as two inmates walked past her. The first one—Santana Lopez, with long, black hair—came to a stop and turned around to face Rachel with narrowed eyes. The one beside her, Brittany, a tall woman with long blonde hair and big blue eyes stared at her curiously as she followed behind her counterpart. They were dressed in navy blue jumpsuits and orange slip-on shoes with no shoelaces—Rachel mentally called on one of the documentaries she had watched over the weekend. Shoelaces were viewed as a weapon, one that inmates could use to strangle other inmates with, or even end their own lives. She rubbed her lips together in uneasiness. What had she signed on for?

Santana stepped closer until she was toe to toe with Rachel, towering over her by no more than an inch or two. Rachel gulped, avoiding eye contact as if Santana were an animal and directly challenging her with eye contact would set her off. "Watch where you're going, Tiny," Santana growled above her.

Rachel lowered her briefcase from her chest to her side as Santana took a step back. She tried her best to smile through her anxiousness. "I apologize profusely for nearly colliding with you," Rachel spoke, meeting first Santana's hardened gaze then Brittany's ever-curious eyes. "You see, it's my first day, and I'm not really sure where I'm going."

Santana stared at her for a long moment as if Rachel belonged in the back row of a remedial class then pointed to a door at her right. "Go there," she instructed.

Rachel nodded. "Yes, well, I'll be on my way. And I apologize again." She walked away in the direction Santana pointed to, then turned around. "Excuse me?"

Brittany turned around first, followed by Santana, who made a show of folding her arms across her chest in impatience.

"I-it just occurred to me that I didn't ask for any of your names." She took a half step forward and cautiously extended her hand. "I'm Rachel Barbra Berry. And you are?"

Santana scoffed. "Leaving." She turned on her heel and began to walk back to the prison cells down the hallway.

Brittany stepped forward and shook Rachel's hand with a small, encouraging smile. "I'm Brittany. But we all go by last names around here, so you can just call me Pierce."

She was like a ray of sunshine in this dismal prison, and Rachel couldn't help but return a genuine smile. "Thank you, Bri—Pierce."

Brittany seemed to understand that she was being thanked for more than just the information she provided, and she smiled brighter before taking off and skipping down the hallway after Santana.

Rachel peeked into the office to find officers Finn, Schuester, Puck, Burt, Kurt, and warden Figgins already inside. Figgins was sitting at the round table nursing a cup of coffee. Schuester was at the other end of the table reading the newspaper, and Finn and Puck were by the water cooler.

Finn looked over at Rachel with a smile, motioning for her to come closer. "Everyone, this is the newest member to our staff. I'd like you all to meet Rachel Berry." Finn wrapped an arm around Rachel. "This is Noah Puckerman. He goes by Puck, William Shuester; just call him Schue. Burt and his son Kurt. And finally, Figgins—the warden.

She smiled shyly at them all. "Good morning, everyone. It's nice to meet you all. I can't wait to work with everyone."

Schuester glanced up from his paper with a smile, and Figgins, mid-sip, offered a kind wave.

She smiled in kind and tucked herself into Finn's side.

Puck looked from Rachel to Finn then back again. "How you like it so far?"

Her eyes dimmed a fraction, though her smile remained the same. "A job's a job, Puckerman. And I'm certainly grateful Finn was able to pull some strings."

Finn beamed proudly at the both of them, and tugged Rachel closer into an embrace.

Just then the door burst open to reveal Officer Sue Sylvester, holding a tray of steaming cups. "Coffee, anyone?"

Mike followed in behind her and greeted everyone with a smile before taking a seat.

Sue gestured to the cups she had placed on the table. "Coffee, Michael? The most expensive, rich, delicious brew you could ever hope to grace your taste buds with."

"That's Mike Chang," Finn whispered to Rachel who watched the display. "And the scary, tall lady who keeps going on about her expensive coffee—" she giggled and he smiled, "—is Sue Sylvester."

Mike shrugged and grabbed a cup. Curious, Burt and Kurt both walked toward the table and grabbed a cup.

Figgins sighed as he polished off his own cup. He placed it down on the table then glanced at Schuester. "It's time to let Sullivan out of solitary confinement, William."

Schuester dropped his newspaper on the table in muted shock. He repositioned himself in his seat and stared head on at Figgins. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Rachel's interest piqued at the concentrated way Schuester attempted to control his voice.

Figgins sighed. "I do not like the idea any more than any of you, but my hands are tied. In case none of you have noticed, Fabray has been building a small army since the moment Sullivan left. With no one to challenge her, how long before that small army turns on us?"

"Wait a minute," Burt cut in. "Are you seriously suggesting we provide Fabray with an enemy in order to protect our own asses?"

"Do you have a better idea, dad?"

He sighed heavily and glared at his son, then across the room at Figgins. "That's the best we've got?"

"It's a prison, Hummel, not the real world," Sue quibbled. "The motto here is: 'Eat or be eaten.' Actually, that's the motto in the real world, too."

"Your world, maybe," Schuester bit out. "But I don't agree with letting Sullivan out of solitary confinement. It's only going to cause more harm than good."

"William, I can't keep her there forever," Figgins reasoned. "The write up stipulated two weeks, and that's all we can give her. Now, please remove her from solitary and place her back in her cell."

Schuester's jaw tensed with barely contained frustration. He pushed back from the table then walked out of the room without saying a word.

Sue laughed to herself as she watched him go. "Now that is one angry troll."

Rachel found herself unconsciously sinking into Finn's side as she absorbed the conversation. It made her uneasy that an inmate who did something bad enough to earn herself two weeks in solitary confinement was now getting out. And also—"Fabray?" was all she could muster in a weak voice as she turned to look at Finn.

He scratched the side of his cheek. "Quinn Fabray—got five years for arson, very conniving."

"Great," Rachel mumbled sardonically to herself. "Just great."

* * *

Schuester pulled roughly on the thick steel door separating the prisoner inside from the only civilization within her grasp. Inside, Terri was curled up on a bed on her side, facing the door. She looked up to find Schuester staring at her from across the room. Slowly, Terri sat up in bed and kicked her legs over the edge of the bed. "Hello, Will."

"Sullivan."

"So formal." She glanced over at the wall where had used her fingernails to keep tally marks of all the days she had spent there. Though the days tended to run together when one spent them in a box, and she had lost count after day eight. "Has it been two weeks already?"

Schuester merely nodded.

Terri then looked around the room, from gray wall to gray wall. "I thought I would lose my mind," she confessed in a matter of fact tone of voice.

Again, Schuester said nothing as he watched Terri from across the room. She sighed, and stood from the bed. "Shall we go?"

He walked further into the cramped six by eight by ten room and held out a pair of handcuffs. "Come on. Let's make this quick." His rough tone belied the gentle care he took in sliding the cuffs onto her wrists. He wrapped his hands around her arm and together they walked out of the room. "Are you going to behave yourself this time?"

A small smile flitted across her face as they walked down the hallway. "Of course."

* * *

"Word on the block is that Crazy Sullivan gets out today," Santana informed the room.

Brittany frowned as she played in Santana's hair.

Across the cell on a bed, a blonde woman eyed Santana on the floor between Brittany's legs. Her name was Quinn Fabray, and beside her was her bunkmate and longtime friend, The Mack, a feisty brunette who loved to make-out. "Who did you hear that from?" Quinn demanded.

Santana shot her a dry look. "Who do you think, Fabray? The neighborhood gossips."

"Jones and Cohen-Chang," she mumbled to herself.

Santana nodded. "What are we gonna do?"

Quinn thought for a moment. "We're going to lay low for a while."

"Fabray!" Santana objected.

"You wanna go in the hole?" Quinn rebuffed without missing a beat. "Because I don't. So excuse me if I want her to strike first before I retaliate to lessen my chances in solitarty."

Santana leaned back between Brittany's legs with a sly grin. "There's only one hole I wanna be in," she assured. "But this is a bitch move."

"It is," Quinn agreed. She smiled in amusement at Santana. "But better to play the waiting game than to piss on yourself in the hole."

"Britt, I can't believe you told!" Santana shouted as she stood from the floor.

Brittany tried to frown sympathetically but she couldn't control her laughter as both Mack and Quinn were doubled over on the other bed. "I'm sorry!" she cried.

"Screw you guys, man!" Santana retaliated, though there was amusement in her dark eyes. Brittany smiled in mirth, and wrapped her arms around Santana's waist, tugging her into her lap.

"Did you guys see the new girl?" she asked as she wrestled affections out of her grumpy bunkmate.

Feigning interest in the new conversation, Santana sunk into Brittany's side. "Oh, yeah, Tiny. Her name is Rachel Cherry or whatever."

"I think it was Berry," Brittany corrected with a giggle as Quinn's eyes darted from Santana to her.

"Whatever," Santana dismissed.

"She was pretty hot," Brittany continued.

Santana shrugged. "She'll never last."

Quinn glanced between the two as she absorbed their information. "Fresh meat," she concluded. "She sounds boring. But it'd be good to work her over a little, have her in our back pocket."

Santana pursed her lips. "I never thought about it that way. Want me or B to handle it?"

Quinn weighted her options. Santana had the subtlety of a bull, and Brittany was often too lenient. "I have a feeling you've already made your first impression stick, Lopez."

Santana grumbled under her breath and crossed her arms.

"Either way, I'll handle it. Don't worry about it."

Brittany grinned at the prospect of the new girl working for them.

Squinted hazel eyes trained on the intruder in her doorway. Quinn cleared her throat to get everyone else's attention.

The intruder, Mercedes, knocked on the wall outside the cell before she took a step inside.

"Jones," Quinn greeted.

Mercedes waved. "Hey, everybody."

Santana shifted in her seat to face her. "Got some news for us?"

Mercedes nodded, wringing her hands. "She's out, y'all."

Quinn licked her lips and cut her eyes to Santana.

Just then Tina came around the corner, breathing heavily. "S-Sullivan and-and-and her cr-cr-cr-crew—"

"Spit it out, Porky Pig!" Santana ordered impatiently.

"Sullivan and her crew are on their way over here!"

Quinn stood from the bed just as Terri and three other people walked into her cell. Their names were Kitty, Sheila, and Ronnie; and Mack, Brittany, and Santana all stood as well.

Terri smiled in challenge. "Wasp."

Quinn's lips curled back into a sneer at the insult. "Old Hag," she shot back.

Terri sucked her teeth in contempt. "Long time no see."

"It's only been two weeks."

Santana shuffled closer to Quinn when Kitty walked further into the room. She was a little thing that, Santana had learned over the years, packed a big punch.

Terri's face hardened instantly. "Two weeks that were supposed to be yours," she spat.

Brittany's eyes zeroed in on the way Ronnie's fists clenched at her side. She inhaled a deep, calming breath as she wondered if they would have to gear up for a fight.

"Ladies!"

Sheila, Ronnie, and Kitty scurried out of the room to stand at the doorway as Officer Puck rounded the corner. "Let's see. One, two, thr—whoops! Looks like we're already over the limit for how many people can occupy this cell. Move out, ladies!"

Santana uncrossed her arms and sauntered out of the room, shoulder checking Terri on the way out. Brittany followed behind her, followed by Mercedes and Tina.

"You guys were just having yourself a good old fashioned hoedown, weren't ya?" Puck asked as they wall filed out one by one.

Terri narrowed her eyes at Quinn. "This isn't over, Fabray" she hissed before walking out of the room.

Quinn glared at her back. "You're right about that," she mumbled to herself.

* * *

Santana placed an apple on her tray and glanced back at Quinn as she moved forward. "What did she mean, this isn't over?"

"I think that much is obvious," Quinn replied in a grave voice. She had been brood, doom, and gloom for the rest of the day since her initial encounter with Terri fresh out of solitary. Quinn had been there before. Solitary offered a lot of thinking time, a lot of time for one to plot revenge. It would only be smart from here on out for her to operate under the assumption that while in solitary, Terri had thought of a way to repay her for Quinn sending her there the first time.

Brittany spun around when she reached the end of the food tray line. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

She was optimistic by default, and it took all Quinn had not to spew out a putrid response that would inevitably hurt her feelings. "Don't worry about it, Pierce. I'll figure something out."

"We," Brittany corrected as she and Santana waited for Quinn to grab utensils.

Quinn turned to find Mack grabbing a last minute snack before picking up some utensils. Mack shot her a bland look. "Now you know I, of all people, will not let you go down like a sucker." She cracked a small, sobering smile. "Besides, you saved me, kid."

The corner of Quinn's mouth ticked upward in appreciation for her longtime friend, Mack, as well as her other two friends she had acquired while in lockup as they all exited the line and found a table. They sat at the same table they had been sitting at for three years; the very place Quinn had met Santana and Brittany when she and Mack had first arrived to serve their sentences. Santana and Brittany had already been there for two years, having attempted to rob a bank when they were eighteen.

_My dad had gambled all his doctor money away,_ Quinn remembered Santana telling her. _So I figured, why not rob? So Britt and I lifted some guns off the street with the little money I had left in my bank account and set out toward a Wells Fargo—then Wachovia still._

_What happened then?_ Quinn could still remember how eager her voice sounded.

_We had the money and were on our way out…when B's gun accidentally went off._ The haunted look on Brittany's face when Santana finally got to that part of the story would be something Quinn would never forget. _It, ah…lodged itself in a teller's lung, the bullet. And he died. Britt was walking toward him to help when I yanked her arm and told her to come on. It was a very high profile case, as you can imagine for such a small town like Lima. So when we heard on the news that the guy had died, Britt immediately wanted to turn herself in. I wasn't gonna let her go to prison alone, so I went with her down to the police station to turn myself in, too._

It was a same-sex Bonnie & Clyde love story that had ended the wrong way, but better than original one would reason: with Brittany and Santana both wearing navy jumpsuits and serving well over a decade's worth of time. But as Quinn stared across the table at her two friends feeding each other the day's mystery meat, she couldn't help but selfishly be grateful both for Brittany having a conscience, and for the fact that she had neglected to put the safety on that day.

Mack nudged Quinn's side as two shadows casted on the table. Quinn looked over to find Mercedes and Tina standing in front of the table with their trays. Her smile was triumphant. "Have a seat, ladies."

Mercedes went to take a seat when Terri, Sheila, Ronnie, and Kitty walked up.

Quinn sucked her teeth and spun around in her chair to get a better look at them. "Something you want?"

Terri ignored her. "Jones, Cohen-Chang. You two wouldn't be fraternizing with the enemy, would you?"

"They weren't before," Quinn responded as she stood up. "But they are now."

"Make no mistake, ladies, lines will be drawn so you choose to sit at this table right now." Terri stepped closer. "Now the two of you have been Switzerland up until this point." She cut her eyes to Quinn then back to Mercedes and Tina. "Don't choose, especially not the wrong side. Because I _will_ end you with no hesitation if you do."

Mercedes cocked her hip out in challenge at the threat, but Tina grabbed her arm. She looked around then stepped closer to Mercedes. "Y-you're all I have in here," Tina whispered. She gave Mercedes' arm a tug. "Let's go. You only have a year and a half, remember?"

As if having just been awoken from a trance, Mercedes blinked and took a step back. She glanced between the two groups and shook her head. "Listen, like Double C said, I only have a year and a half in this place, and I'm gone. I don't have time for gang activity. I'm out, y'all." She left everyone to their own devices as she and Tina walked away to sit at another table.

Quinn slammed her hand down on the table and walked swiftly toward Terri. "I am so sick of you putting your nose into my business, Old Lady!"

"All right, ladies, that's enough!" an officer called.

"Then you do something about it, Wasp," Terri spat back. She looked directly into Quinn's eyes. "Jump stupid if you want, and I will crush you like the bug you are."

"Fabray! Sullivan! That's enough!"

Quinn glanced over Terri's shoulder to find Officer Schuester approaching her. Her nostrils flared as she glanced over her own shoulder to find Officer Hudson behind her. Her eyes shot up to his, then flicked down to the woman by his side.

Santana eyed Quinn's questioning gaze and turned to Rachel. "Hey, Berry!"

Quinn hummed quietly to herself in recognition. Her eyes scanned Rachel's body briefly as she acquainted herself. "Fresh meat," she mumbled to herself.

Uneasy, Rachel shuffled closer to Finn.

Santana smirked at the comment as Rachel turned to look at her. "Having fun yet?"

Rachel's jaw clenched. She smiled weakly. "It has certainly been an informative day, Santana."

"Lopez," she corrected.

Rachel nodded humbly.

"Do you need to go to the hole?" Finn asked.

Quinn scoffed at the bass he had put into his voice. "Calm down, Hudson. Quit trying to show off in front of the newbie."

Rachel watched the two of them closely as Finn stepped forward. The last thing she needed was for Finn to be hospitalized at the hands of this Fabray person.

Finn leaned down. "Hey, be cool, all right?" he whispered. "I don't need you busting my balls in front of Rachel."

"I am not going to the hole!" Quinn whispered harshly.

"Okay, okay, just be cool," he reiterated. He cleared his throat and stood back to his full height. "Everything all right on your end?" he directed at Officer Schuester.

Terri, Kitty, Sheila, and Ronnie were all walking away in a single file line. "Fine," Schuester replied gruffly.

Finn nodded. "Good." He glanced at Quinn then everyone else at the table. "Okay, everyone finish their meals _quietly_."

"What is this, preschool or prison?" Santana sassed back, prompting the whole table to laugh. "We don't play the silent game anymore."

Finn grimaced in embarrassment. "You know what I mean, Lopez."

He motioned for Rachel to follow him away from the table. Quinn spied the placement of his hand on her lower back with interest.

"You see, this is _exactly_ why I suggested we take her out first," Santana insisted once they were alone again. "She's clearly feeling froggy, Fabray."

Quinn picked up her plastic fork and returned to her meal. "So she is," was all she said.

Mack noticed her friend's reticent demeanor immediately. "Who cares? Terri probably doesn't have anything planned anyway. She probably spent those two weeks getting even loonier than she already was. Bee-tee-dubs, anyone else pick up on her droopy cheeks lately? And for once I don't mean her ass."

Brittany snickered like a school girl at the remark.

"Sounds like Ol' Girl needs another injection of Botox," Santana agreed in amusement. "I guess fifty ain't the new thirty-six anymore!" she then yelled.

From across the cafeteria, Terri flicked her off without even glancing in her direction.

Quinn laughed.

As conversation returned to normal, a petite redhead placed her tray at the end of the table and sat down. Mack's eyes bulged out of her head and she nearly bruised a muscle from nudging Quinn's arm so hard.

"Ouch! Shit, Mack—_what?_"

Mack pointed down the table and Quinn, Brittany, and Santana all turned to look.

"Holy shit," Santana whispered.

"Baby, can we trade seats?" Brittany asked.

Quinn gawked as she stared down the table at the woman quietly, politely eating her breakfast. She occupied so little space to be as perplexing and occasionally intimidating as they all found her. No one really knew much about Ms. Emma Pillsbury except for the fact that she had OCD…and was in for murder.

"Uh, Pillsbury?" Santana finally hedged when no one else said a word.

As if just realizing they were all there, Emma turned to the group of four with a small smile. "Hello, everyone." She always had a pleasant enough demeanor, but if it was one thing prison had taught the four of them over the years, it was that no one was who they seemed.

Quinn eyed her warily. "Hi. You're with us now?"

"Mhm," she hummed with a nod then went right back to her food.

"Oh," Quinn murmured when it became obvious their presence was dismissed. She didn't know what to make of this newfound information, but reasoned one person was better than none. "Nice."

Brittany shook off a chill in the humid room. She cleared her throat and went back to her meal. Quinn made eye contact with Santana for a long moment then Mack before they all voicelessly agreed to finish their meals. In silence.

* * *

Rachel knocked on the tall wooden door before opening it to peek inside. Figgins was across the room, standing bent over his desk and staring hard at a stack of papers. "Officer Figgins, you wanted to see me?"

Figgins looked up from the stack and smiled. "Yes, Miss Rachel, please come in."

She smiled at the welcome and walked inside, closing the door behind her.

He gestured toward the seat in front of his desk before taking his own seat. "How was your day learning the ropes?"

Rachel cleared her throat, rubbing at the back of her neck as she searched for a suitable response. "It was…quite informative."

"Good." He nodded. "We typically give new employees the day to explore and learn routines. But now I want to discuss your job with you."

She perked up at the mention of her job, and picked up her briefcase from the floor. Opening it, Rachel fished out a stack of papers. "Yes, well, as you see I have an entire briefcase full of detailed lesson plans in place. I am more than ready for my class."

Figgins smiled indulgently. He placed his hands on his desk and steepled his fingers together. "Very well, Miss Berry. But you will be responsible for just one inmate."

Confusion knitted her eyebrows, and crestfallen, she leaned back in her chair "I don't understand. I thought I was hired to teach—a class."

"A class of one," Figgins reiterated. "We already have staff in the education department teaching whole classes, Miss Berry. Your position became available due to an inmate having her privileges of learning in a classroom of her peers revoked due to…inappropriate behavior."

Rachel fidgeted in her seat. "H-how inappropriate?"

"However," Figgins continued, ignoring her question, "she insists that she wants to keep her brain sharp while she's in here, and wants to continue her education."

It felt like her world had suddenly tilted on its axis, and the change in position made her queasy. Not only was she teaching prisoners, but she was teaching _a_ prisoner who apparently did something bad enough to get kicked out of a _prison_ classroom.

She licked her lips nervously. "Who, ah…who is this inmate I'll be teaching?"

Figgins smiled at her would be acquiescence. "Quinn Fabray."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by an infuriating inmate and her band of detainees.

**A/N:** Thank you all for your reviews! Just a quick heads up: I have never been in prison, nor have I ever worked at one. That being said, the information you find here won't be 100% accurate. Fair warning. Also, this fic is rated M for violence among other things, so keep that in mind if you choose to continue reading.

* * *

"_Okay, I've heard enough."_

_Rachel could literally feel her vocal cords clench, for in the middle of her audition to hopefully get into one of the most prestigious performing arts schools in the country, she was told to stop. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered in panic. "I must not understand. You want me to stop?"_

_The one in question was esteemed NYADA alum and instructor, Carmen Tibideaux. She looked up from her notes at Rachel as if she was annoyed that her time was being wasted. "That's right."_

_Rachel tried her best to smile as she took a step forward on stage. "Then my performance went well?"_

_Carmen cleared her throat as she gathered her stack of papers. "I haven't seen a performance more boring since two-thousand-six when a flaming male thought When the Saints Go Marching In would actually wow me. Where's the pop? The pizazz? You can't get into NYADA by playing it safe."_

_She felt her heart constrict at the news. "What are you saying?"_

_Carmen leveled her eyes on Rachel from several feet away. "I'm saying that the answer is no. Based on your audition, you aren't what NYADA is looking for, I'm sorry."_

* * *

Storming into her bedroom, Rachel flung her briefcase full of well-prepared lesson plans on the bed with a frustrated grunt. She straightened her blouse and kicked off her heels before storming into the kitchen to stare at Finn's long figure looming over the stove. He hadn't even bothered to take his work clothes off when he came home, only walked straight into the kitchen to make a bologna sandwich.

Rachel seethed with anger as she stared at his back. _He_ was the reason she had this job in the first place, so it was _his_ fault that she was stuck with an inmate Finn himself had called conniving.

"Tell me everything you know about Quinn Fabray, Finn Hudson, right now."

Finn grabbed his sandwich from the napkin it was placed on and swiveled around to face Rachel. He watched her chest rise and fall with deep, controlled—barely—breaths. "Okay," he said in a soothing voice, "you're turning into Scary Rachel."

"I didn't know I'd be teaching her, Finn!" she yelled. "You neglected to inform me of that!"

"I didn't know you'd care!" he argued with a mouth full of food. Crumbs flew out of his mouth and onto the ground, and Rachel closed her eyes to block out the mess he was creating on the floor.

When she spoke again, her voice was controlled. "She is an arsonist, Finn."

"Trust me, compared to other prisoners, her crime is one of the least threatening."

Rachel quieted at the sobering news.

Finn went to capitalize on her silence. "I mean, there are murderers in there, Rach!"

"I know!" she cried in fear. "I shouldn't have taken this job."

"Now hold on." Finn shoved the last third of the sandwich into his mouth, wiped his hands on his slacks and walked over to Rachel. He enveloped her in his arms and rested his chin atop her head. "We both know you needed this job," he needlessly informed her as he rocked them both back and forth. "It's just until you find another one, Rach. Look, if it makes you feel better, read her file. So you'll know what you're up against."

She nodded against his shoulder as tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't be further away from her dreams if she tried. "This isn't what I wanted, Finn," she confessed with a sniffle.

He sighed and kissed the top of her head. "I know. But at least we're together, right?" He didn't give her a chance to respond before he pulled back enough to lean down to kiss her on the lips.

Rachel stood in his embrace until she felt something press against her stomach, felt him grow a little eager, and she subtly gave a little shove. He sighed against her lips and eased back. She tried her best to smile. "It's just been a long day, Finn. I think what I really need right now after being in that prison is a hot shower."

He nodded as she pulled away and walked out of the kitchen.

"Yeah…okay."

* * *

After spending two hours surfing the web, Rachel had managed to find an online chat room for prison employees. She scrolled through the many topics ranging from _Different Ways to Detain a Rowdy Inmate _to_ So You Got Stabbed With that Shank, Huh?_ _(A Guide to Ensuring it Doesn't Get Infected). _She put a star by that particular thread for future reference just in case then continued to read through a thread on improving morale in the prison with mild interest. Suggestions ranged from having movie nights with the inmates to having a field day full of outdoor activities with carnival-like snacks.

Rachel slumped back in her seat with a sigh. She looked up to her framed NYADA theater degree hanging on the wall and wondered, not for the first time, how she got here. She had fallen so far from grace. But when she finally rose to the top again, if ever, her memoirs would be both heartbreaking and inspiring.

Deciding to make the best of her situation, Rachel sat up again and continued to read through the thread.

* * *

Quinn picked the top three cards off the deck in her hand and flipped them over. She eyed the seven piles of cards in front of her, each with one card turned up, then placed one of the three cards onto the pile and flipped three more again.

When she had moments of solitude, she tended to think of her past: the pink hair, the edgy clothing. And she wondered what single moment, if any, in her life ultimately led her here in prison. And if she had chosen differently, been at the right place at the right time instead of the wrong one, would she have been able to continue the life she had before prison.

Sometimes she wondered if prison was meant to put a halt to the fast life she had cultivated for herself, if it was put in place by divine intervention to ultimately save her life, and send her on a different path.

Whatever the case, the two years she had left couldn't go by fast enough.

"Fabray."

She looked up to find Officer Sylvester approaching her. Quinn placed her cards faced down on the table. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms and legs. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sue's expression was one of displeasure as she spoke. "I believe you have education from noon to one-thirty."

Surprise showed in the widening of Quinn's eyes. "I do," she responded to hide it. No one had told her she had gotten her privileges back.

"Then let's go."

Quinn gathered her cards and slipped the rubber band that had been on her wrist around the deck. She stood and allowed Sue to escort her to the education wing of the prison.

Santana did a double take on her way inside of a classroom when she saw Quinn. She pumped her hands in the air and sing-songed, "Fabray got her privileges back."

"In your classroom, Lopez!" Sue interrupted in a stern voice.

Santana waited until Sue and Quinn passed by to stick her middle finger up at Sue.

Quinn was directed into a small room with a table in the middle of it. She looked around in confusion then turned back to Sue. "No classroom?"

Sue smiled cruelly. "You want to act out like a child who needs 'special attention', you get treated like one."

Quinn's eyes narrowed into slits at the insult. "So, what—I get one-on-one attention?" She smirked and took a seat at the table, making a show of it. "I knew you all respected me."

The smile on Sue's face was wiped away immediately. She sneered at Quinn then walked out of the room, passing Rachel down the hallway and muttering, "She's all yours," in a crotchety tone of voice.

Rachel swiveled around to Finn with fear in her eyes. "I don't know if I can do this."

Finn placed large hands on Rachel's small shoulders. "You can. She's an arsonist, not a murderer. There aren't any matches or lighters inside. And it's not like she has secret powers or anything, so she's not gonna start a fire out of nowhere."

Despite her anxiety, Rachel laughed. "Finn, I'm not afraid she's going to set the room on fire. I'm afraid she's going to beat me up, or…do whatever she did that got her classroom privileges revoked."

"She's not," he assured. "Look, I know Quinn. She likes learning. The education department is probably the only thing in here she respects other than the art department. She won't do anything to jeopardize her chances of being in a classroom again."

The pout on Rachel's face hadn't lifted, but she mumbled, "Okay," anyway.

Finn reached for the walkie-talkie on his hip. "Here." He handed it to her. "If anything goes south, you press this button here, then yell Code 30. That means you need assistance with a prisoner _immediately_. We will all come running."

"You promise?" she asked as she held on to the walkie-talkie with dear life.

He smiled. "Promise."

Rachel nodded, feeling moderately better about the ordeal. She kissed Finn on the cheek for comfort then walked into the room. Inhaling a deep breath, Rachel took the inmate in. Quinn was staring directly at her from across the room at the table.

"Hello," Rachel greeted. She smiled kindly, and thought of this as nothing more than a role. Improvisation. She had to play the role of confident prison personnel, one who wouldn't take any junk from an inmate. But also a good cop, one who respected the inmate as a person. Once she had finalized the role she would play, she rolled her shoulders back and sauntered into the room. "You must be Quinn Fabray. I'm Rachel Berry."

"My reputation precedes me," Quinn purred in a way that made dread shoot down Rachel's spine. "I take it you're my tutor, Berry."

Rachel ignored the alluring cadence to Quinn's voice as she walked further into the room. "I read your file," she informed Quinn in an attempt to wipe the smug look off her face.

It didn't work. "So you did." Quinn folded her arms across her chest. "What'd you learn?"

Rachel soldiered on. "Well I learned that you're one of the few inmates who has to have one on one sessions because you were a bit, umm, disruptive—"

"I held a questionably acquired knife to Sullivan's neck and threatened to slit her throat during class. Bitch shouldn't have crossed me," Quinn confessed with a tilt of her head, gauging Rachel's reaction. She watched the subtle bob of Rachel's throat and reveled in victory at establishing herself as the dominant person in the room.

Rachel rubbed at her neck self-consciously. "Yes, well, hopefully our lessons won't be in the same vein," she attempted to joke with a shaky smile.

Quinn shrugged as if she had no say in whether or not Rachel would get shanked. "Play your cards right."

Rachel's steps stuttered as she thought twice about turning her back on Quinn. She inhaled a deep breath and tugged at her buttoned blazer. Decision made, she turned around and walked to the counter to grab the briefcase she had left when she previously visited the room to check to see if it was up to her standards.

It wasn't.

She hoped turning her back on Quinn would instill trust. After all lack of trust was one of the main reasons inmates acted out, Rachel had learned from one of the many documentaries she had watched before starting her job. If one treated an adult like a child who couldn't be trusted then it would only yield those exact results. Quinn wasn't a child, Rachel reasoned. And though an inmate, she deserved to be treated with decency and respect, not with mistrust and insolence.

Quinn tilted her head to watch Rachel saunter toward the counter, calves flexing as she walked in her kitten heels. She made quick work of assessing Rachel. She seemed to be someone who forced bravado for the confidence she lacked. Lips twitching, Quinn was simultaneously amused and—"You're hot," she decided with pursed lips. Her eyes raked up impossibly long tan legs to the hem of the ridiculously inappropriate and unfashionable short black and white checkered skirt Rachel was wearing.

A tiny squeak lodged in Rachel's throat as she snatched her briefcase off the counter and turned around, face reddening as she gawked at Quinn.

With a smile crawling across her face, Quinn leaned forward in her chair and steepled her fingers together on the table. "What's the matter; can't walk in real heels?"

"T-this is all wildly inappropriate!" Rachel stammered. Her hands clenched into fists at her side, eyes narrowing into an unimpressed glare.

Quinn licked her lips, enjoying her new toy far too much. "I could teach you," she hissed with a lazy grin. "At a price."

Rachel hurriedly stalked back over to the table. She slammed her briefcase down, and Quinn leaned back to keep from getting her fingers smashed. "That is enough, Miss Fabray," Rachel demanded.

Quinn pursed her lips, not appreciating the formality.

Rachel seemed to lose steam at her silence. She cleared her throat. "Now…we can either continue with your lesson, or I can be on my way and you can walk back to your cell. Your choice."

Quinn had been positive Rachel's type would have jumped at the chance learn how to walk in a taller pair of heels. She had seen plenty of girls who fit the bill in high school. Having spent her whole life effortlessly climbing to the top of the food chain by expertly reading people, Quinn felt both embarrassed and put-off by the fact that she had read Rachel so inaccurately. Crossing her arms, she sat back in her chair in silence.

Taking her silence as acquiescence, Rachel pulled out the chair across the table from Quinn and took a seat. "Now then. Let's get started, shall we?"

Quinn remained quiet as she recalibrated her preconceived notions of Rachel Berry. She operated under the assumption that Rachel's confidence wasn't false then she wondered why her fashion sense was so appalling. She snapped out of her reverie when she noticed Rachel pull a stack of papers out of her briefcase. "What is this?" Quinn asked in amusement.

"My lesson plans," Rachel answered eagerly. She handed Quinn a worksheet. "I figured we'd start with some basic addition and work from there."

Insulted, Quinn roughly slid the paper back across the table. "Are you fucking joking?"

Rachel's back went stiff at the swear. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"

"Do I look like I rode the short bus in school?" Quinn growled. "I don't need a refresher course on fucking addition."

"Okay, if we could just cut down on the swearing," Rachel suggested, feeling her temple pound. Surely she had heard such colorful language in New York, but this was a workplace setting. Well, _her_ workplace setting. Quinn's…living quarters. But this _was_ a classroom setting, nonetheless.

"Makes you uncomfortable?" Quinn jeered.

Rachel tossed her hair over one shoulder and gave Quinn a look. "It does, actually."

Quinn's expression hardened. "Then how about you come over here and do something about it."

Suddenly it occurred to her that she was arguing with a criminal, and Rachel's blood ran cold.

Quinn sensed the fear in her immediately. "That's what I thought." She gestured toward Rachel's lesson plans. "Now come up with something better, because I assure you I'm _not_ going to sit here for ninety minutes every day figuring out what two plus two equals."

Rachel licked her lips, feeling wholly overwhelmed. "I'll-I'll redraw my lesson plans and come up with something different," she conceded in a quiet voice.

Quinn lifted her chin. "That sounds better." She stood from her seat. "If you have nothing else to teach me I'll be on my way." When Rachel did nothing more than stare at the stack of papers she had worked so hard on but now felt stupid for, Quinn walked away from the table. "Later, Berry," she called over her shoulder.

Rachel listened to her footsteps until she could no longer hear them. When she was sure Quinn was long gone, she stood from her seat and frantically ran to the nearest bathroom. She locked herself in the handicap stall that afforded a little more breathing room and spent five minutes hyperventilating.

She just went toe to toe with a criminal. She wasn't cut out for this. This wasn't her _life_. Her life was stardom, singing and acting and Tony awards. Her life wasn't teaching ungrateful inmates who threw her hard work back in her face, no matter how unserviceable and kind of insulting the work had been.

Quinn Fabray was a spoiled little prick, Rachel decided.

But she was also an arsonist who had so far spent three years in prison, and could probably kill Rachel in various creative ways with little more than floss and a tub of Vaseline.

Rachel groaned in exasperation at her own thoughts as she sunk to the bathroom floor.

* * *

Her tray dropped to the table with a clang as Quinn plopped down in her chair beside Mack. Having arrived to lunch late, her friends were already there, caught in the middle of a conversation that she didn't care to catch up on at the moment.

"Hey."

Her shoulders shifted in her jumpsuit. "_What_?"

"At-ti-tude," Santana punctuated the syllables with a shake of her spoon in Quinn's direction. "What's crawled up your pussy and died?"

Quinn squinted. "Really, that's a little crude."

They all laughed. "Careful, Pyro, you're starting to sound like the prude you were when you first walked into this dump."

Santana's words were sobering, and seemed to snap Quinn out of her funk immediately. She dipped her head and forked through her potatoes. "You haven't called me Pyro in a while."

"Yeah, and you haven't acted like a tightwad in a while."

Mack and Brittany snickered, and Mack nudged Quinn goodnaturedly to let her know not to take any of this personally.

Quinn stretched her neck from side to side in an attempt to loosen the muscles and hopefully her personality. "I just got a lot on my mind is all."

Santana shrugged. "I told you we should've killed the bitch. Bet it'd take your stress away. Hey, by the way, you snag Berry yet?"

Santana received a bland look. "No."

"You had tutoring with her today, though, right?"

Quinn dropped her fork. "Yeah, I did. And you know what? The bitch brought worksheets with addition problems on them."

They all laughed. "No fucking way." Mack shook her head in disbelief.

"Even _I_ know what two plus two is," Brittany assured with an eye roll.

Santana wiped away a tear of amusement. "Yeah, Britts, but there are some people in here who literally _don't_."

Positive that she had successfully distracted them all, Quinn sank back and allowed them to continue their conversation about which inmates were idiotic enough to need those worksheets.

"Oh, oh, _Ronnie_ _Hicks_!"

Ronnie, who had been passing through, turned around at the sound of her name. Her eyes zeroed in on Santana as she doubled back to the table. She slammed her hands down on it, and Mack grimaced at her thick fingers. "What'd you say?" Ronnie growled.

Brittany frowned. Her legs shifted under the table as she prepared to stand up if need be.

Sensing her bunkmate's jumpiness, Santana reached under the table and placed her hand on Brittany's upper thigh. "Oh, nothing, Hicks. We were just discussing neighborhood prison idiots, and your name just happened to come up."

Ronnie stood to her full height. "Come say that to my face."

"With pleasure." Santana stood and walked around the table until she was in front of Ronnie. Quinn stood and Brittany and Mack followed suit.

She immediately looked around to find Terri, Sheila, and Kitty approaching from different angles. Quinn smiled. "Well then. It's yesterday all over again, I suppose."

"Not today it's not!"

They all turned to see Officer Sebastian Smythe heading toward them. Quinn eyed him reaching for his taser, and stepped back, motioning for Mack to follow. She made eye contact with Brittany and jerked her head to the right to indicate she needed to step back. Brittany grabbed Santana's arm and tugged, and Santana followed without question. Five years in prison had taught her two things: not everything needed to be questioned, and above anyone else, Brittany always had her best interest in mind.

Sebastian stood between all of them, looking around. "Is there a problem here?"

Ronnie gritted her teeth. "Yeah, this puta called me an idiot."

"Probably the only Spanish word you know," Santana shot back.

"How about I send you back to where you came from?" Ronnie threatened.

"What, Lima Heights Adjacent? I'll gladly go!"

Sheila snorted. "I've never seen you around the Heights."

"Then maybe you didn't know what you were looking for," Santana argued in a cold voice.

"That's enough! Sullivan, Hicks, Wilde, Johnson! Get back to your table." Sebastian walked up to Ronnie. "I'd hate to have to use this," he cautioned, reaching for the taser on his hip.

Ronnie glared at him for the threat, and Sebastian cowed back a step.

Kitty stepped forward to grab Ronnie's arm. "Let's go back and eat this oh, so delicious food they prepare daily for us," she cajoled sarcastically, cutting Sebastian a sharp look.

"I ain't afraid of that taser," Ronnie pointed out as she walked away.

Terri allowed her group to lead, turning to Quinn before she, too, left. "I'll see you real soon, Wasp."

Quinn felt her chest tighten. She turned to Sebastian who was just standing there. "She's not going to get in trouble for that?"

Sebastian looked her dead in the eye. "I didn't hear anything."

Quinn shot up from her seat. "That's bullshit!" she cried.

Mack stood, scowling at Sebastian, as she placed a calming hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Hey, chill. It's not the first time an officer here hasn't done their job. Won't be the last either."

Sebastian slowly backed away from the table then turned to walk back to his post.

Santana went back to her meal. "Don't you worry about him, Fabray. I'll get him."

* * *

Quinn put the finishing touches on her latest art piece. Using the black shaded pastel that had stained her fingertips, she traced the shading under her subject's bottom lip one last time. Her eyes grew misty as a small, watery smile touched her face.

"That looks pretty good, Fabray."

Startled, Quinn turned around to find Officer Schuester across the room against the wall. He was on duty today in the art room to ensure inmates didn't stab each other with paintbrushes. "Thank you, Officer Schue." Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, and she flashed him a small smile before turning back to her pastels.

"All right, everyone did really well today," the instructor assured. "Now if you would pack up your materials and put your work over in your portfolios—"

"Actually, Ms. Watson," Quinn interrupted. "May I take mine with me? It's…kind of important to me."

Ms. Watson smiled and nodded. "That'll be fine, Fabray."

Quinn smiled and finished packing up her materials. It was the one peaceful place in prison she had, the art room. For ninety minutes every other day, often it was the only thing that kept her sane, hopeful.

Folding up her newest artwork, Quinn placed it under her arm and walked out of the room.

There was something…off, Quinn noticed as she continued the walk to her quarters. Tension in the air she couldn't place. She halted in the middle of the hallway and clutched her drawing when two inmates ran toward her. Her eyes clenched shut.

When nothing happened, Quinn opened her eyes and looked over her left shoulder to find that they had passed her and kept down the hallway.

There was a growing buzz of multiple conversations in the hallways before someone finally yelled, "_Riot_!"

Quinn's eyes widened.

A swarm of inmates suddenly appeared in the halls, yelling, cursing, pulling hair, and fighting one another.

Quinn stayed close to the wall and rounded the corner. She was about to take off into a full sprint to her cell when she was seized by hands wrapping around both of her arms. "Get the fuck of me!" she growled as she instinctively twisted and jerked. She looked up to find Ronnie on her left and Sheila on her right. Her blood ran cold. She looked forward as a figure emerged in the midst of all the mêlée.

Terri.

Quinn felt her stomach bottom out.

Terri came to a stop inches in front of Quinn's struggling form. "I told you I'd see you real soon."

Kitty, too, emerged from all skirmish with a triumphant smile on her face when her eyes landed on Quinn. "Told you I could get a riot going."

Terri hummed. "A very smart idea, Wilde. Keep it going."

Kitty took off in the opposite direction, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Terri snapped her fingers, and Sheila and Ronnie hoisted Quinn off the ground as if she weighed nothing and carried her to a nearby cell where they wrestled her to her knees.

Quinn stared at the orange slip-ons approaching her. She winced, but wouldn't allow herself to cry out when fingers dug into her skull and yanked her head up by her hair until she was staring at Terri towering over her. "Little girl, I told you not to mess with me." There was a sharp object in her right hand.

Stricken with fear, Quinn schooled her features to impassivity. Fear was the one thing in prison that got people killed next to drug addiction and snitching.

"What do you want us to do with this?" Sheila asked.

Quinn heard the familiar scratch of construction paper and her eyes widened. She struggled in the sure hold she was in. "Give it back!" When had they gotten it, she wondered frantically.

Terri unfolded the paper to reveal the artwork inside. She walked back to stand in front of Quinn.

"Get the hell off of me!" Quinn yelled.

Terri cackled evilly. "Scream all you want. No one will be able to hear you with that mess going on outside." She stared down at the artwork in wonder with a tilt of her head. "Who is this blonde haired little girl? You?"

Quinn's lips were drawn up as she glared up at Terri.

"Nothing to say, Wasp? Pity. You typically have all the answers, don't you?" Terri swiftly walked back to her dresser. She grabbed a lighter and held the paper above a dancing flame as she walked back over to Quinn.

"No!" Quinn shouted, her voice pleading now.

Terri's red mouth twisted into a smirk. "But I thought you liked fire," she hissed with narrowed eyes as the flame finally made contact with paper. She allowed it to fall to the floor and with wide, grief-stricken eyes, Quinn watched it burn.

Swiftly moving behind her, Terri gathered Quinn's hair in her grasp to expose the back of her neck. The ice cold blade made contact with warm skin, and the hairs on the back of Quinn's neck stood on end. "One false move on my part, and I could completely paralyze you," Terri observed as she watched the blade reflect the overhead light in her cell. The blade began to cut into pale flesh while Terri sarcastically asked, "Tell me, Fabray, where's your little band of misfits now?" Just then alarm shot through her when an arm curled around her neck and constricted.

"Right here, bitch!" Santana yelled.

The blade fell to the ground and Sheila and Ronnie dropped Quinn to the floor immediately. Brittany ran into the cell and leapt through the air to land on Sheila's back. Sheila cried out in surprise and confusion before reaching back to grab a handful of blonde hair. Brittany grunted in pain, but kept a sure grip on Sheila.

Ronnie's fist came down hard, aiming for Mack's face who managed to duck in time. Mack swung a long metal pipe she had acquired during the riot. There was a loud clang then Ronnie cried out and crumpled to the floor, grasping her knee cap.

"How's that for a trick knee?" Mack asked.

"Mack, over here!"

She turned toward the garbled sound to find Brittany on the ground with Sheila's hands wrapped around her neck. Before Mack knew anything, the pipe was roughly being jerked from her hands. "Wha…" she said nothing more as Santana stalked across the room and cracked the pipe across Sheila's skull. There was a grunt then Sheila slumped and fell on her side.

Santana's voice was a grave, hoarse bark when she spoke. "Don't you ever _fuck_ with my Brittany."

Brittany scrambled to stand then threw her arms around Santana's neck. "Thank you. It's okay. It's okay," she reassured through breathless wheezing.

"Mack."

Mack turned to find Quinn holding Terri in a full nelson. Understanding, she ran over to Quinn and took over.

Ronnie attempted to get to her feet as she watched Quinn grab the shank from the floor. She felt a shadow loom over her and looked up to find Santana with the pipe in her hand. "Don't make me use this," Santana warned.

Brittany ran to the door and poked her head outside. "Guys, things are dying down. And I hear the tear gas bombs, so make this quick."

Quinn grimaced at the blood she felt trickling down her neck. She stared down at Terri. "You're a piece of shit, Sullivan," she spat. She reached down and yanked her jumpsuit apart, buttons loudly smacking against the floor. Quinn stared at her breasts with a sick smile. "It would be a shame to see that boob job go to waste."

Before Terri could offer a retort, the blade was slowly slicing her skin open above her breast.

"Now I'm no doctor," Quinn hedged in a calm voice as she took a step back. "But I'm sure I could get it out."

Jaw clenched, Terri said nothing. Nothing about how expensive the surgery had been, how she had scraped together her last to get it, and how she would be nothing without it. Because from the way Quinn looked at her, she already knew.

"Schuester won't even touch you with a ten foot pole. You think he's gonna want to fuck you when you're all sliced up?"

"We gotta go!" Brittany yelled.

Quinn yanked on the now bloody tank top Terri was wearing and wiped her prints off the shank with the hem of the t-shirt. She stood to her full height and ran out of the cell behind her crew without a word.

* * *

"Did Sullivan do this?"

Quinn glared up at Officer Burt as best she could with her neck bowed. Behind her, Kurt pressed gauze after gauze to her wound in an attempt to clean up all the blood. After taking a screwdriver to his leg several months ago, Kurt had given up his position in the field to work in first aid. Less pay, but also much less life threatening.

Hazel eyes rolled around in Quinn's skull. "I didn't see who did it." The number one code between prison inmates was Don't Snitch. But Quinn wasn't withholding information to follow any code. She wanted revenge for a wound that would likely create ugly scar tissue. And she couldn't exact revenge if Terri would end up spending a month in solitary for attacking another inmate. At least the attack had been done in a place on her body she didn't have to look at. Unlike Terri's.

Burt growled lowly. "Look, we all know it was Sullivan, all right? She's in the room right next door getting bandaged, too."

"So you're working us both," Quinn responded right on the heels of his statement.

Burt scowled. "Just say her name and I'll get out of your hair."

Quinn hissed in pain at the antiseptic being sprayed on the open wound. "I said I. Don't. _Know_," she punctuated in impatience. "It was a damn riot; how am I supposed to know who had the balls to sneak attack me from behind?"

His lips firmed into a thin line. Burt knew she was lying. No inmate other than Terri had enough balls to go after Quinn. He looked over Quinn's head to make eye contact with Kurt. "Can you at least tell me what happened?"

Quinn licked her lips as Kurt placed a large bandage across the back of her neck. "Someone came up behind me and knocked me to the floor. Then they took what I would guess was a blade and cut me."

"Why?"

"To send a message? I don't know!"

"What kind of message?"

Quinn's expression blanked. "I don't know," she decided. "I don't know anything."

Burt shook his head in annoyance. "Fine. Then I can't offer my help."

"I never asked for it."

He walked toward the door. It was opened just before he reached it, and Officer Hudson poked his head in. His expression was grave as he motioned Burt closer.

Quinn watched the two of them whisper back and forth. Then Burt straightened. He walked back over to Quinn as Finn stepped away from the door to reveal Rachel standing there staring at her. Her eyes were wide in alarm, and Quinn stared at her as Burt quietly asked,

"Do you know anything about the murder of Warden Figgins during the riot?"

* * *

_Carmen Tibideaux sighed as she looked at the seventeen year old crying on stage. Having gathered her things, she was on her way out of the auditorium and cursed herself for glancing back one last time. This Rachel Berry girl was a mess of sniffles and hiccupping sobs. And contrary to popular belief, Carmen didn't particularly like crushing the dreams of aspiring NYADA undergraduates. It was just a part of the job. And it wasn't as if Rachel lacked talent, quite the opposite. She just failed to wow Carmen. She played it too safe. But what was NYADA if not a place that taught its students how and when to take daring risks?_

_She sighed wearily and stepped back into the auditorium. "Okay, okay, okay, enough," she insisted. "Enough with the blubbering already!"_

_Misty eyed, Rachel could barely make out Carmen's figure. "Ms. Tibideaux?" she confirmed in a weak voice._

"_You get one more chance, kid," was all she said. "And you'd better blow me away."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by an infuriating inmate and her band of detainees.

* * *

_Her stomach fluttered with inconsolable butterflies as the ice cold gel was smoothed across her belly._

_Her doctor smiled encouragingly. "First baby?"_

_She turned to the ultra sound machine to see dreary colors of gray and black. But nothing could dim her soul, not with the knowledge that she was finally pregnant. "Can I get these pictures in an eight by ten?"_

_The doctor frowned as he stared at the screen. He rolled his chair forward to get a closer look._

_She looked from him to the screen then back again, clutching the hem of her shirt. "What's wrong?"_

_The doctor swallowed. He hated this part. "There…doesn't seem to be a baby."_

_Her jaw dropped in muted shock. She scrambled to sit up as best she could, with her feet on a pair of stirrups, and looked her doctor square in the eye. "What are you trying to say?"_

_Her voice sounded frightened, to which he sighed. "Have you ever heard of a hysterical pregnancy?"_

* * *

Terri dragged her fingertips across the rough-textured bandage on her right breast with a sigh. Her jaw clenched at the unsightly addition, and the even more unsightly scar that would surely form underneath. She prided herself on her beauty. It was one of the only things she had left going for her, especially in prison. She was pushing toward her late forties, and couldn't compete with the younger girls coming in nowadays. Younger girls like Quinn.

She glowered across her cell at the cinderblock walls. Quinn Fabray was a nuisance in the worst way. She reminded Terri of herself, and for that Terri wanted to destroy her. Because Quinn had potential. Potential and she had two years until she was back out into the world, becoming everything Terri could have been had she not have thrown her life away to be a housewife to her ex-husband.

And what did throwing her life away get her? Life in prison. All for the sake of maintaining her family. It was a _Lifetime_ movie in the making, and Terri was filled with self-loathing for allowing herself to get here.

There was a knock on the cell doorway and her neck rolled to the side to find Ronnie leaning heavily against the doorway. Terri quickly pulled her jumpsuit back on. Nearly all of the buttons had been ripped off and it no longer closed by itself. She held the two sides together within her fist and signaled Ronnie in.

Ronnie limped to the bed and took a seat.

"How is Johnson?"

"Well she's not concussed, thank goodness."

Terri hummed. "Good."

It was silent for a moment before Ronnie finally said what needed saying. "That was a stupid idea."

"Did you have a better one?" Terri hissed.

Ronnie shrugged and muttered, "I wanna get that Santana back. She called me stupid."

Terri didn't even bother pointing out the obvious, because in that moment Ronnie had given her a bright idea.

"How are you holding up, Sullivan?"

Terri and Ronnie looked to the door to find Kitty swaggering in, completely unscathed compared to the two of them. "Heard Fabray did a number on your right tit." Amusement swirling in her eyes, Kitty looked to Ronnie. "And what about you? Big tree fall hard?"

"Fuck you, Wilde," Ronnie grunted. "We shouldn't have gone after Quinn no way. We knew sooner or later her crew would find her."

"You're right, Hicks," Terri murmured more so to herself. "It'd be impossible to reach the uppermost totem without demolishing the ones underneath it."

Kitty cut her a weird look. "Is this some weird Zen yoga speak?"

Terri chuckled. "No, my dear. This is revenge in a way that'll cut Quinn worse than that blade ever could."

* * *

Everyone stood around the office with their heads bowed in silence. Rachel found she didn't have very many memories of Figgins to reflect on, so she allowed her silence to show her respect. Beside her, Finn shifted from foot to foot. He always grew restless when in one place too long. There was a time in high school when she wondered if he had ADD.

Across the room, Officer Schuester lifted his head with an encouraging smile. "All right. Thank you all for paying respects with me." He clasped his hands together in front of him. "Warden Figgins is dead. He was a great man—"

Beside him, Sue coughed into her fist, hiding an amused smirk.

Schuester cut his eyes at her. "Anyway, I think what he would want right now more than anything is for us to return to normal and continue doing our jobs as smoothly as possible."

"Who died and made you new warden?" Sue asked, affronted.

Burt cleared his throat. "You know, in light of recent circumstances, I don't think that phrase is appropriate."

Schuester looked around. "No one, I—"

"Because I'm appointing myself as warden," Sue cut in.

Sebastian smirked, amused.

Rachel gave a start. "Personally, I would prefer Officer Schuester—"

Sue frowned. "No one asked you, new girl."

She reared back at the crass comment and looked up to Finn for support. He shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, "Crazy," hoping it would appease her.

Rachel folded her arms across her chest with a deep frown.

Schuester widened his stance as he considered Sue's words. "You know, I think I'd like to be warden. And I could use the extra money."

Sue threw her hands up. "Spoken like someone who killed the previous warden."

Mike shook his head. "Too soon."

"Ha-ha, undermining my integrity as a human being by suggesting I murdered him. Stay classy, Sylvester."

"Stay short, Troll Who Lives Under the Bridge," she retorted.

"The question does remain, though," Puck admitted with a shrug. "Who did it?"

Sue snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "That's the kind of question I would find answers to if I were warden."

"I think I would be a better warden," Schuester insisted.

"Why—you think your penis affords you characteristics indicative of a capable leader, William?" Sue asked. "I'm disgusted."

"This has nothing to do with sex!"

"It has everything to do with it!"

"All right, look!" Burt cut in. "If it'll stop the two of you from bickering, we'll all vote on it."

Officer Schuester smiled. "Fantastic idea."

"This isn't a democracy; it's a dictatorship," Sue decided.

"Yeah, can't say you won this room over, Sylvester," Puck added.

Sue snarled. "Then this election is already rigged."

Schuester held his hand up. "Then we'll get the prisoners to vote. We'll campaign all week and they'll vote on Friday. We'll count all the votes on Saturday, announce the winner on Sunday, and new warden goes into effect on Monday."

Sue shoved her hand out in his direction. "You've got yourself a race, Shuester."

He went to shake her hand when Rachel eagerly approached him. "I'd be more than thrilled to be your campaign manager, Officer Schue."

Finn eyed her weirdly while Officer Schuester offered a nervous smile. "Ah, thanks, Berry."

She beamed up at him. "It's no problem, really. All a part of getting more involved in the work place."

"I will end you," Sue threatened him in a grave voice before she pulled away. "Puckerman—" She pointed at him across the room. "You're my campaign manager."

Puck rolled his eyes as he pushed off the wall and followed Sue out of the room. "Thanks a lot, Berry."

Rachel smiled brightly and waved after him. "You're welcome, Puckerman!"

* * *

Rachel walked into the classroom and felt a strange sense of relief to find Quinn sitting in the same seat as yesterday. She remembered the stab of concern that panged her heart yesterday when she had learned from Finn that Quinn had been cut, such a vague word for the very specific situation Quinn must have had found herself in yesterday. Sympathy poured out of Rachel in abundance for how scared Quinn must have felt.

Cautiously, she approached the table and stood across from Quinn. "I'm glad to see you're okay," she hedged.

Quinn twisted her lips and cocked her head to the side as she stared up at Rachel. "And why is that?"

The question caught her so unawares, that Rachel was rendered speechless for one of the few times in her life. When she didn't say anything, Quinn shrugged as if vindicated. "Got anything better for me in the briefcase of yours?"

The rapid change in subject was confusing to say the least, but Rachel gratefully took the offering of somewhat lighter conversation. "Yes, I do." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out stacks of paper. "I wasn't sure what subject you were interested in, but I went through some of the assignments I had in college and pulled out some subjects for you to look at."

Quinn grabbed a stack and flipped through it. "Pre-calc?" She snorted in offense. "That's the furthest you got? I went to community college and at least made it to linear algebra."

Rachel paused while sifting through her briefcase, and smiled, taking it in stride. For some reason it didn't surprise her in the least that Quinn was well versed in mathematics. She had a feeling the more she learned about Quinn, the more she would come to realize that Quinn was a lot smarter than she would have originally thought, and that she probably shouldn't judge a prisoner by their jumpsuit.

Quinn grabbed another stack. "Eighteenth century women's literature? Now we may have something here."

Proud, Rachel pushed her briefcase aside and sat down. "I actually have a few books at home from the class if you'd like to read them."

Quinn flipped through the syllabus, biting the corner of her lip. "I'm a bit of a feminist," she mumbled, as if grudgingly letting that fact about herself go. She glanced over at Rachel. "And I've already read all of Jane Austen, so you can leave those at home."

"All?" Rachel asked, a touch awestruck.

"I've been in here three years."

"Oh, yeah, _that_," Rachel voiced with awkward laughter following as she remembered she was talking to a prisoner, that she worked in a prison.

Quinn carefully watched the way her eyes dimmed, and, taking it personally, pursed her lips and looked away.

Rachel seemed to notice the change in her mood if the way her eyebrows drew together were any indication. Eager to connect again with her student, she scooted forward in her seat. "What's your favorite Jane Austen novel, Fabray?"

"_Sense and Sensibility_," Quinn commented without batting an eye.

Rachel scoffed with an eye roll, catching Quinn's attention. "Come now, that's _everyone's_ favorite."

Quinn's eyebrows danced along her forehead at what she perceived a challenge. "Not true. Everyone's favorite is _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Everyone _says_ _Pride and Prejudice_ due to the numerous films and adaptations the novel has garnered, and they don't want to be left out of the loop when film snobs discuss how the film inescapably failed to compare to the novel. But everyone's _true_ favorite is _Sense and Sensibility._"

Quinn arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and as Rachel stared at it, she wondered how in hell a prison inmate managed to have more neatly manicured eyebrows than her own. "And you've polled this proverbial 'everybody' to come up with the statistical evidence, Ms. Statistician?"

"Hey!" Rachel protested, affronted that her math skills were being made fun off. Her chin jutted out proudly. "That's what you're for."

Quinn hummed, her eyes alight with something Rachel couldn't pinpoint but was excited to see nonetheless. Silence enveloped the two of them, but it wasn't entirely unwanted as Rachel gathered her thoughts. "I can maybe—how does a…book club sound?" she suggested. "Because you're obviously higher in math than I was when I graduated and, honestly, I don't think I can teach you chemistry."

Quinn chuckled.

Rachel found it encouraging instead of insulting in light of their recent lighthearted conversation. "So…a book club? I can go buy your books, and we can read maybe a couple of chapters a night then come back and discuss. It'll keep your imagination strong as well as your vocabulary, and—"

"Okay, Berry, geez," Quinn interrupted. "I'll do your damn book club."

Rachel lowered her head demurely to stare at her fidgeting fingers. She was never going to get the hang of this teaching thing. She looked up to meet hazel eyes with a shy, nervous smile and admitted, "I'm a bit longwinded."

Quinn shot her a dry look. "You don't say." She watched in intrigue as shyness overcame Rachel. She was an enigma indeed, Rachel. Completely in control, yet totally out of it, confident yet meek, unsure. Quinn studied her frame while Rachel was busy staring at her cuticles. "I pick the first book."

Relieved that Quinn had agreed to her proposition, Rachel flashed her a warm smile. "Of course. What would you like?"

"_1984_."

"How very Big Brother of you," Rachel commented.

Quinn smirked. "I like a woman who can keep up."

She wasn't sure whether she had meant it to sound as flirtatious as it did, but Quinn reveled in the flush across Rachel's cheeks nonetheless. "Yes, well—" Rachel cleared her throat. "I believe that's enough for the day. Unless there was something else you wanted to add."

Quinn threw her open hands up and shrugged as if to suggest she had nothing to contribute.

"Oh! I almost forgot." Rachel dug around in her briefcase to produce a pink flier. She slid it across the table to Quinn. "Officers Schuester and Sylvester are running to be the new warden of the prison. Personally, I think Officer Schuester is an all around nicer and more approachable individual, which would be great for the inmates, you know? So vote Officer Schuester for your new warden. The pink paper was all we had left," she added.

The slogan across the flier was _Vote Schue! It's the Right Thing to Do!_ And Quinn didn't really have to think hard to know Rachel had come up with it on her own. Under the slogan was a picture of Officer Shuester and Rachel giving a thumbs up. "You made these?"

Rachel nodded with a proud smile. "I didn't have much to go on or much time to make the fliers, but I think they turned out superbly."

Quinn looked directly at Rachel from across the table then crumbled the paper in her hands. "I'm not voting."

Hurt, Rachel couldn't help but frown. "Why not? You must. Voting is essential to have your voice heard around here. And I think Officer Schuester would be fairer to inmates than Officer Sylvester."

"Why do you care?" Quinn replied snidely. "There hasn't been a single person in a position of power who has cared for us." She looked Rachel up and down with an unimpressed expression on her face. "What makes you so different?"

Their previous conversation had been so pleasant that Rachel had been able to imagine it happening in a different time, in a different place. Like she had stumbled upon Quinn in a coffee shop one day and struck up friendly banter. But the attitude and hostility she was currently receiving reminded Rachel that she was in prison, talking to an inmate who was three years embittered.

Quinn's jaw clenched in the silence that fell between them. "Why do you act like you care?" she asked again.

Rachel reached across the table and grabbed the ball of paper beside Quinn's shaking hand. With care, she patiently unfolded it while she stared at Quinn. "You have a gash in your neck, and Figgins is dead," she explained in a heavy voice. "I'd have to be some cold, unfeeling monster to not care."

Quinn just stared at her. "But you're not."

Rachel shook her head, unsure if it was a question. "No. I am not."

"Then who are you?" Her voice sounded mystified in spite of her anger.

She had been smoothing the flier out on the edge of the table, and stopped cold at Quinn's questioning. A sigh lifted her shoulders before they sank again. "I'm…actually not quite sure," she admitted aloud.

"Why?" Quinn pushed.

Rachel placed the flier on the table. It curled up from where it had been rubbed against the edge of the table, and though her hands fidgeted to fix it, she let it be. "Because this—" she spoke, glancing around the room, "is so not where I expected to be once I graduated college. And…I don't really know. I guess I'm going through a bit of an existential crisis right now."

Quinn looked away. She rubbed at the bandage on the back of her neck. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Rachel wrapped her arms around her middle. "It's just that…being involved is the only thing that makes me feel like I'm not at a complete standstill in my life right now." Her eyes clenched shut in shame. "And I know it's selfish to say that, to feel that way. But I do care. I just—"

"Care about yourself more," Quinn offered with a shrug.

Dark brown eyes popped open in alarm. "No, I—"

"I'm not judging you." Quinn shrugged again. "You're human. Survival of the fittest, self-preservation instinct. I get it. You have to do what you have to do to keep yourself from going insane, because you're young and your life is already at a dead end. So you don't _really_ care about improving shit for us, you just need a pet project to distract yourself from your shitty life." Quinn stared at her. "I get it, really."

Rachel swallowed a lump down her throat. She stood from her seat and began packing her briefcase. She closed it with shaky fingers and left the flier on the table.

"Please vote," she mumbled before exiting the room.

* * *

Quinn knocked on the doorway to Santana and Brittany's cell.

"We're doing the nasty!" she heard Santana call out followed by Brittany's giggle.

"No we're not!"

Quinn trusted Brittany's words more than Santana's and walked into the cell to find the two of them curled up on a twin sized bed. If it weren't for their contrasting skin tones, Quinn wouldn't have been able to tell where Santana ended and Brittany began.

She held up the wrinkled flier in her hand. "You guys voting?"

Brittany's head bobbed up and down. "But you're holding the wrong flier. We're voting for Sylvester."

Quinn looked taken aback. "What? Why?"

"Puck promised us a breadstick from Breadstix if we did," Santana explained.

"One breadstick? Between the two of you?"

Santana scoffed. "Better than what you're getting for voting for Schuester, bitch."

Quinn walked further into the room. "But Syvlvester doesn't care about us."

Santana pulled apart from Brittany to sit up straight once it was obvious Quinn wasn't going to let this go. "No one does, so what's the difference in voting for one over the other? At least when I vote for one, I get a breadstick out of the deal."

"But she's a bitch."

"Yeah, and Schuester's got a dick. Big whoop."

"I'm voting for Schue."

Quinn looked over to find Mack casually leaning against the doorway. The top of her jumpsuit was bunched around her waist to reveal the white tank top she was wearing, becoming soaked from her dripping hair.

"Hey, I just mopped that floor! Don't get your water on it!" Santana yelled jokingly.

Mack pretended to step outside before she fully came in and plopped down on the bed next to Quinn.

"Mack, why are you voting for Schue?" Brittany asked curiously.

Mack shrugged. "He was the only person who didn't treat me like an animal that one time I got put in the hole." She cowered away from Quinn's gaze at the mention of solitary. Mack had only gotten put there once and it was over a year and a half ago when she had a brief relapse due to some inmate running drugs through the prison.

Santana pursed her lips. "Okay, so he _can_ be a pretty cool guy," she allowed. "But I _wants_ my damn breadstick."

"I'll get you a breadstick," Quinn told her. "If it'll get you to vote for Schuester."

"Why are you riding my ass so hard for this vote?" Santana griped.

Mack peered over at the flier in Quinn's hand before snatching it. "Vote for Schue. It's the right thing to do," she mumbled. "Rachel Berry—isn't that your tutor?"

Santana's head tilted, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Is that why you've been harassing me? For your tutor?" She grinned. "Oh, this is rich."

Quinn looked away, choosing to stare at the flier in Mack's hand instead.

"Is this how you plan on getting her in your back pocket? By securing votes?"

Her eyes widened at the suggestion, and she felt equal parts foolish and even more embarrassed for having not thought of it first. "Yes, that's exactly it."

"Freaking brilliant!" Santana squealed.

Brittany smiled at the girlish sound. "She's totally banging Hudson, by the way."

Santana nodded in agreement. "Oh, a major bone is getting buried there."

Quinn frowned, glancing between the two of them. "Wait, what?"

Santana shot her an expression that could only be interpreted as _Duh_. "Hudson practically follows her with his hard on all day."

Quinn stared at them in befuddlement. She didn't miss much, and found it hard to believe that—

She thought back to the day when Officer Hudson attempted to show off in front of Rachel. She had thought it was because he was trying to get into her pants, not that he was already there. She then remembered the way he placed his hand on her lower back with familiarity, and how Rachel didn't thwart his advances. "They're dating?" she asked.

"They're certainly fucking, fam," Santana answered. She leaned back against the wall her bed was pressed against.

"Who knows? Maybe they're a two for one special," Mack suggested. "Get Berry, get Hudson."

"Infiltrate the system then get them all!" Santana added.

"Like Pokémon." Brittany nodded.

"Exactly like Pokémon, Britts."

Quinn swallowed, wondering how she could have possibly miscalculated that situation. She stood up and rubbed the palms of her hands on the pants of her jumpsuit. Without saying a word, she walked out of the room.

Santana yelled after her. "If you expects me to be voting for Schuester, you had better supply my breadstick!"

* * *

Rachel placed her briefcase on the couch as soon as she walked into the apartment. Finn followed, removing his holster and tossing it beside her briefcase. He listened to the delightful tune she hummed as she walked toward the kitchen. "How was your day?"

"Not bad," Rachel allowed. She fought with her own height to reach a bag of chips atop the refrigerator, scowling when Finn chuckled from behind her. Her hands found her hips as she turned around to glare at him. "You could at least provide assistance instead of just standing there and laughing at me all day, Finn Hudson."

Finn walked toward the refrigerator, completely eclipsing Rachel as he grabbed the bag of chips. He smirked down at her. "A kiss for the chips."

She accepted the price and was granted her chips. "Today was better than the entirety of yesterday," Rachel went on. "I like that I can distract myself from the fact that I work in a prison by helping with Officer Schue's campaign."

Finn made a face as he leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, what was up with that? I mean, the guy didn't even say he wanted a manager."

"Everyone who campaigns wants a manager, Finn," Rachel responded as if insulted by the fact that he didn't seem to know that.

He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. "If you say so."

Rachel eyed him in suspicion as she crunched on a handful of chips. "Oh, my goodness. You're jealous."

He seemed to fold in on himself in embarrassment, and Rachel smiled. "Finn, honey, you have nothing to be jealous about. I'm not at all interested in William Schuester of all people."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "It's just something to do to keep myself from going crazy." She dug around the bottom of the bag for crumbs, mumbling, "Maybe that Quinn girl was right."

"What'd you say?"

Rachel looked up to find Finn staring intently at her. She cleared her throat. "I said maybe Fabray was right after all."

He scoffed. "What could an inmate say that would possibly be enlightening?"

Rachel recoiled at the callous comment. After spending an hour and a half talking to Quinn, she had learned that particular inmate had more to offer than meets the eye. "She said some things that I really needed to hear."

"Like what?"

The conversation replayed in her head, and Rachel suddenly thought twice about informing Finn about how Quinn had read her like a book and concluded that she was at a dead end in life. "Actually, you're right," she decided. "Now that I reflect on it…it wasn't too enlightening after all."

"Once you've been around for a while, you'll notice that these inmates don't have a thing to contribute."

Rachel frowned deeply. "That's not fair, Finn. All of those people had lives before prison."

He nodded. "And then they decided to turn to a life of crime. I don't pity them."

"Is pity what they want, though?"

He laughed at her naiveté then walked closer to envelope her in a hug so she wouldn't take it personally. "I know it's easy to feel bad for them because like, they spend twenty-four-seven locked in a cell, but some of these women are hardened criminals, Rach."

"And what about the ones who aren't?"

"The ones who aren't still made the decision that put them there."

The only thing that came to mind in that moment was Quinn's insistence that no one in a position of power truly cared about the inmates.

* * *

Quinn winced in pain as her neck began to hurt from the television she was lifting.

"Slow down there, cripple," Santana lectured as she came to Quinn's aid. She took the TV from her and walked it to the table they were both working at. "Learn how to ask for help, fam."

Quinn rubbed at the bandage on the back of her neck. "You were knee deep in repairing that radio. I didn't want to bother you."

Santana picked up her screwdriver with a shrug. "What can I say? I'm a handy lesbian."

"Aren't all lesbians handy?"

"You would know."

Quinn quieted at the comment. She grabbed a pair of pliers and began repairing the TV.

"You sure you don't want the day off to relax that delicate swan-like neck of yours?"

Quinn welcomed the change in topic that thwarted her thoughts. She smirked. "No way. I make eleven cents an hour. One more week of this and I can buy a whole cigarette."

"And not have a lighter to smoke it with," Santana laughed.

Just then, Officer Sylvester came barreling through the room. Her face visibly showed her disgust as she glared at every inmate. "I'm calling out inmates one table at a time to discuss which one of you killed Figg—"

"What if it wasn't one of us," a bold inmate called out. Her eyes narrowed as she stared directly at Sue. "What if it was one of you."

The room broke out into giggles and hushed whispers, and Sue felt her face grow warm with rage. "You want to spend a week in solitary to think about your insubordination, inmate?"

The inmate shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm just saying. You're out on a witch hunt to find out who killed the man…when the one holding the knife could be one of your own."

Sue's eyes narrowed. "How'd you know he was stabbed?"

With a smug smirk, the inmate leaned back against her desk. "I didn't."

"That's it. You and everyone surrounding her, outside for questioning right now."

A group of five inmates all filed outside of the room for interrogation.

Quinn shook off a shiver at the booming sound of Sue's voice yelling from outside.

Santana looked around at everyone whispering to each other. She nudged Quinn. "Who do you think did it?"

"I don't know." She rubbed at the back of her neck. "I was otherwise preoccupied."

Santana snickered. "Right. What do you think the punishment's gonna be?"

Quinn watched the other inmates file back in, looking bleak and pissed off. Sue looked directly at her. "Fabray and everyone surrounding her—outside!"

She dropped her pliers and walked outside with Santana and three other inmates following. They lined up along a wall with Officer Sylvester pacing back and forth and snarling at all of them. "You all make me sick."

Quinn pursed her lips, folding her arms across her chest as Santana rolled her eyes.

"Make no mistake," Sue continued. "I will find out who murdered Figgins, and I will personally see to it that your current sentence here is doubled."

"What if we're only doing a year?" one inmate sassed, and the whole line laughed.

Sue zeroed in on the inmate and stepped closer until she was standing over her. "Was that a confession?"

The inmate quieted.

"That's what I thought." Sue stepped back to stare at all of them. "Now I'm not a complete monster." She smiled at them, but it only served to spook them all. "I have it in me to be lenient. So I'll tell you what: vote me as your new warden, and maybe I won't completely double your time."

Quinn, who had barely been paying attention to Sue's last ditch effort to prove herself a hero, turned to look at her when the last of her statement sank in. "That's bribery."

Sue tilted her head. She gestured around them. "And this is prison," she informed Quinn as if she were touched in the head. "Get over it. All of you get out of my sight."

They all filed back into the room and took their seats while Sue called another table outside.

Quinn hissed down the table at the other three people, "Don't believe her when she says she'll be lenient on you, because she won't. Your best bet is voting for Officer Schue, especially if you know you didn't kill Figgins. You have nothing to hide then." She nudged Santana who didn't seem to be too into the conversation. Santana looked over at her, and Quinn shot her a grave look.

"I better get my stick," Santana hissed. Then she turned to the other women. "Look, fact is Sylvester doesn't give a shit about us. And she's a liar. So don't vote for her. Simple."

* * *

Quinn rounded the corner of her cell. "Hey, Mack, I made you—" She stopped short when she realized the cell was empty. "Mack?" she wondered.

She stepped back and out of the cell to glance around the hallway. There were a group of girls dancing and listening to music in a corner, yet none of them were Mack. Peering further down the hallway, Quinn saw two brunettes locking lips. Rolling her eyes, she strolled down the hallway and grabbed one by the shoulder. "There you are. I—"

The woman who turned around was _definitely_ not Mack, and had a pretty powerful eyebrow. She glared at Quinn and shoved her hand away. "I don't know you."

"Touch me like that again, and you will," Quinn growled.

The other brunette grabbed the woman's hand and led her away. "That's _Fabray_," she whispered. "Come on, let's find somewhere more private."

The two of them left, and Quinn swiveled around, a little ticked off and no closer to finding Mack. She went to Brittany and Santana's cell.

"Have either of you two seen Mack?"

Santana shrugged. "Not since dinner. Why?"

The question confused Quinn until she looked down at the artwork in her hand. It was a drawing of Mack's brother that she asked Quinn to make for her. In her quest to find her bunkmate, Quinn had nearly forgotten why she had been searching for her in the first place. "I just…wanted to give her this," she said, realizing how lame it sounded considering she had been on a manhunt.

The weird look Santana shot her alerted Quinn to the fact that she was being as lame as she felt. "Well maybe she found some chick to make-out with in exchange for gum. Let the bitch breathe, Fabray!"

Quinn nodded. "You're right, you're right. I'm being all..." she gestured vaguely with her hands, feeling foolish, "motherly again."

Brittany smiled at her. "I like it when you're motherly. Especially because my mom's, like, not here and stuff."

Quinn returned her smile as she headed out of their cell. "Thanks, Pierce. But really, who would want their mom in a place like this?"

She returned to her cell and reached under her mattress for a stick of gum, hoping Mack wasn't making-out for gum when she could have had some of Quinn's. Ripping the stick in half, she chewed until it was gooey, then pulled it out of her mouth. Next she placed it on the back of the picture she had drawn for Mack then tacked it on the wall on her side of the cell.

Proudly, Quinn stood back and admired her handiwork, and hoped her friend and cellmate would appreciate it.

* * *

_Silently, Terri twisted the doorknob and walked inside. Her high school cheerleader trophy was squeezed in her tight grasp as she soundlessly moved through the house. She looked around her for signs of anyone in the house before creeping up the stairs. The gentle hum of a woman's voice lured her like a siren's song as she crept down the hallway. She followed the light at the end of the hallway and found herself in a room. _

_Bent over the crib in a corner of the room was a girl humming a lullaby to a fussy baby. At the sound of the baby's crying, Terri felt her blood boil._

_Noticing the growing shadow on the wall, the girl turned around to find Terri encroaching upon her. "Mrs. Schuester!"_

"_You promised me that baby." Before Terri knew anything, she had struck the girl in the head with her trophy. The girl fell to the floor and Terri followed. "I can't let you keep him," she heard herself cry as she struck the girl again. "I can't let you ruin my family." Again and again the weighted end of the trophy came down on the girl until her blood curdling screams were nothing more than unintelligible murmurs._

_Then she was silent._

_And the only sound that could be heard was the baby crying._


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by an infuriating inmate and her band of detainees.

**A/N**: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your kind reviews!

* * *

_She was on her knees, shaking with tears welling in her eyes. Quinn had never seen her so strung out and distraught. She felt warring feelings of anger, both at Mack and her dealer, sorrow, and sympathy for her longtime friend._

"_Please, Quinn, please—just—I don't know. I need—something—I—" Snot trickled down her face, and it took all Quinn had in her not to look away._

_Still, Quinn held a stiff upper look as she looked down at her a friend. "You always say you'll stop, Mack. And you never do."_

"_I know, but—" Mack hooked her thumb into Quinn's boot, anything for contact as she started to come down from her high. Her extremities felt cold, yet her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. "I can't do this, Quinn, not-not anymore. But I can't—" Tears fell down her face as she looked at Quinn in desperation. "But I can't stay away," she confessed in a whisper. "Help me."_

_Quinn's hands clenched into fists as anger consumed her. Anger borne of watching her friend lose all sense of pride. She reached down and helped Mack to her feet. Looking gaunt, Mack was hoisted up like a rag doll, her arm thrown over Qunn's shoulder. "Help me, Quinn. Hel-help me, p-please."_

"_I'll help you," Quinn promised in a quiet, grave voice as she carried Mack to her bed.  
_

* * *

Quinn jumped to wakefulness, startled by a loud sound. She looked over to the opening of her cell to find Officer Sylvester standing there with a pan. "Time to get up, Fabray. Where's your bunkmate?"

Quinn looked over to the empty bed a few feet away from hers. She frowned then narrowed her eyes at Sue and snarled, "Isn't it _your_ job to keep up with inmates?"

Sue stepped further into the cell. "Looks like I hit a little nerve there, huh, Fabray? What's the matter, don't know where she is?"

Quinn ignored the question as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the cold floor to stand. The icy ground bit into the soles of her feet to create an uncomfortable feeling that three years still hadn't taught her to get used to. She grabbed a towel and soap, then slipped into her shower shoes. Then she walked over to Sue. "Look, I don't know where she is. And let's be real, though it's your job to know, you don't know where she is either. So how about you go do your job and find my bunkmate, and let me get to my shower."

Sue looked Quinn up and down. When she realized there wasn't a way to one up her in this situation, she glared at her as she stepped out of the cell. "Any of you seen Galiano?" she called into her walkie-talkie as she walked down the hallway.

Quinn waited until she was out of sight before running to Brittany and Santana's cell. She knocked once on their doorway before walking inside. "Have either of you seen Mack yet?"

"Damn it to hell, Fabray, again?" Santana griped in a groggy voice.

Brittany yawned and pulled the blankets higher up her naked body. "Not since you last asked."

Quinn rubbed at the frown lines in her forehead. "Sylvester just asked me where she was."

"_And_?" Santana punctuated.

"_And_ so that means she doesn't know, which means it's safe to assume that none of the prison personnel know."

Sighing, Santana sat up in bed. "No, it's safe to assume they don't communicate with each other like they're supposed to. We all know they do a half-assed job of running this prison. One of them probably saw her earlier this morning and neglected to tell the rest."

"Saw her doing _what_?" Quinn stressed.

"I don't know! Shooting hoops outside because she wants to be the next Michael Jordan?"

"This isn't funny."

"You burst in my cell at too-early-o'clock," she deadpanned. "Trust me, I know this ain't funny. But I also know you're freaking out too much about this, Fabray."

"Yeah, well—and if I'm not?" Quinn rebuffed. The room fell silent then. "Yeah, that's exactly what I thought."

"But she only goes after you!" Santana called to her back as Quinn walked out.

"Not if she thought of a new approach," Quinn mumbled to herself.

* * *

Rachel turned to face the room as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She watched Sue storm into the office like a whirlwind bent on destruction and took a step back.

"That Fabray has a smart mouth," Sue roared.

Everyone around the room seemed to offer a collective nod and hum of agreement, and Rachel hid an amused smile. It seemed she was in the process of learning what everyone already knew, Quinn wasn't the typical inmate. She had words and knew what to do with them.

Still, she had an odd bit of…charm that Rachel couldn't quite understand or place. It was just there, in her words, in what she said and how she said it, and the facial expressions she used. Rachel reasoned it was why Quinn was one of the big contenders in the prison. For what she lacked in size, she made up for with charisma.

"Have any of you seen Galiano?"

Rachel shook her head and looked around the room. She spied Kurt and Sebastian in a corner with Sebastian's hand on Kurt's waist as they engaged in a private conversation. Kurt caught her eyes and twisted out of Sebastian's grip.

Feeling like she had intruded on a confusing moment, Rachel promptly looked away.

Schuester took in everyone's silence with a frown. "We need to find inmate Galiano."

Sue swiveled around to face him. "Gee, ya think?"

He ignored her. "Hummel, Smythe?"

They spun around to face him in alarm.

"Can you guys check the medical ward for Galiano?"

Kurt's chest visibly deflated with the breath he had been holding. "Of course." They both scurried out of the office.

"I'll check A-block," Schuester continued. "Hudson, you have B. And Sylvester, can you check C?"

"I'll check what I want to check," Sue informed him. She spun around on her heel and walked out of the office.

Schuester sighed as he stood.

Finn pressed a kiss to Rachel's cheek before following Sue out.

"Berry, would you mind checking around the education wing?"

Rachel placed her cup on the counter with an eager nod. "No problem."

* * *

Rachel likened her role to Sherlock Holmes, as she searched around the education wing with a notepad in hand. She exited the art wing, placing a folded sheet of construction paper in the pocket of her skirt. So far there were no leads. The last time inmates were claiming to have seen Mack, she was with Quinn. And, having watched even more documentaries in which prison 'families' turned on each other, the last thing Rachel wanted to think was that Quinn had done away with Mack.

That wasn't possible. As Finn had stated, Quinn was an arsonist, not a murderer. Besides, from what Rachel had heard, Quinn and Mack's friendship preceded prison. They were thick as thieves. Or…inmates.

She walked into the dance department to see a hip-hop dance class being taught. Rachel glanced around at the talented women perform moves she had only seen in music videos. It was weird to watch. But seeing them in this setting, stripped of their jumpsuits and donning shorts and tank tops, was painfully reaffirming to Rachel that these women once had lives outside of here. Lives that apparently included dance lessons.

Her bright eyes found familiarity in the form of Brittany Pierce at the very front of the group. The precision with which she moved her body was mesmerizing and awe-inspiring as Rachel stared on. She didn't even realize ten minutes had passed until the group broke apart for the day.

Rachel stepped toward her as Brittany hoisted her bag over one shoulder. "Excuse me, but may I have a moment of your time?"

Brittany looked up then stood to her full height with a smile. "Berry, hi. It's great that you're still here."

The comment was both encouraging and daunting. "Thank you, Pierce." Rachel tucked a lock of hair behind her ear then gripped her pad and pen. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions regarding Galiano." Brittany's eyes grew cloudy and closed off as her posture followed, and Rachel seized the opportunity. "Pierce, this is important. If you know anything about the whereabouts of Galiano—"

"I don't," Brittany interrupted with a stern shake of her head, ponytail swishing from side to side. "I just know that Fabray's been going crazy looking for her because we haven't seen her since yesterday."

Rachel wrote down the information then looked up at Brittany again. "Did she say anything when you all last saw her that would give any inclination as to her current whereabouts?"

Brittany shook her head. "The last thing we all talked about was voting and how Mack was voting for Schue and Fabray was trying to get me and Santana to vote for hm."

"Oh, that reminds me—vote for Schue!" Rachel declared with a smile. It lingered and turned into something genuine at the thought of Quinn getting others to support her campaign despite the fact that she chewed her out for it. She noted the way Brittany last-named everyone but Santana with interest. Well, and Mack, but _every_ inmate seemed to refer to her as Mack. Rachel flipped her notepad closed and smiled at Brittany. "Thank you for your time, Pierce. You can go now."

Brittany winked at her and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "I'll see you around."

* * *

"It was amazing, Finn!" Rachel declared as she sat down in the office to have lunch with Finn. "I felt like a detective or something. It was so thrilling."

Finn grunted in response as he scarfed down his ham sandwich.

"And the inmates were so polite. Well," she digressed, "a few of them _did_ threaten to stab me, but—"

Finn nearly choked on his food. "What?"

Rachel shrugged as she stared at him. "It was my fault, really. I was steppin' all on their turf."

"You were wha—" He shook his head. "Rachel, _you_ are the one in a position of power here. You do not have to respect them."

Rachel placed her hummus slathered wheat bread on her napkin. "I do," she disagreed simply. "Inmates or not, they're _human_, Finn."

"They've given up their rights to—"

"To what, Finn? Be considered human in your eyes? Worthy of respect?"

Finn leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "You know, I'm not the only one who treats them this way."

"I know, Finn." Her tone softened. "And they know. I was just talking to Quinn the other day and she said she wasn't voting because no one cared about the inmates anyway."

"Fabray," Finn corrected.

Rachel looked at him in confusion until her slip up sank in. "I said all of that, and the only thing you picked up from it is that I called her by her first name?"

He gesticulated vaguely. "You're going native!"

"That term only applies if the inmates were 'here first'. Technically speaking, inmates and guards inhabited this prison at the same time. One would even argue the guards were here first considering one can't have a prison of inmates without guards watching over—"

Finn placed his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand with a bland expression on his face.

The door burst open and Sue walked in. "_You_." Rachel squeaked as Sue slammed her hands on the table. "I go out into A-block and what do I hear? Prisoners discussing who they're voting for. And you know who they're saying?"

Rachel shook her head.

"William Schuester," Sue spat as if it were the vilest name on earth.

Reflexively, Rachel smiled.

"This is not a smiling matter, new girl." Uninvited, Sue pulled out a chair and sat down. "You're bribing them. You have to be."

Offended, Rachel's eyebrows knitted together as she declared, "I most certainly am not!"

"Then what is your secret?"

"I _talk_ to them," Rachel imparted. "Like they're human." She cut her eyes at Finn then back to Sue.

Sue mulled over her words with intense eyes boring into Rachel. "Yeah, no, I don't have time for that."

"All I'm saying," Finn agreed.

Rachel stood and began cleaning the table. "Then I suppose we'll all have to learn to agree to disagree."

* * *

Quinn plopped down on her bed, resting her face in her hands. There was nothing she despised more than guards who couldn't do their job, and with each second that passed by without her hearing of Mack's whereabouts, their incompetence was proven more and more.

Just then a figure skulked into the room, twitching. "The hell are you doing?"

Quinn looked up to find Mack stumbling inside. Relief washed through her instantly, and fearing she was hurt, Quinn rushed to her side. "Damn it, Mackenzie, where have you been?" Her words were hushed as she placed a hand on Mack's arm.

Mack sniffled and looked away. "Around." She pushed off Quinn and walked further into the room.

Quinn watched how Mack's hand shook as she walked around the small cell. Her gait was off, her hair mussed, and there was a lingering smell that Quinn didn't like. Her expression went blank. "Who did you get it from?"

Mack shrugged with a sick, lopsided smile. "Number one rule," she sing-songed. "Don't snitch."

"We're family. That rule doesn't fly between us," Quinn hissed in a cold voice.

Mack snorted at the rise she was getting out of Quinn. "You're just gonna go after whoever supplied me."

"You're damn right I wi—"

"_I_ _want_—" Mack began to yell at her top of her lungs. Quinn's eyes widened. Mack quieted down and tried again. "I want it. I like myself this way." Her words were quick and gruff, and so uncharacteristically her.

Quinn folded her arms across her chest. "Do you?" she challenged as she stepped closer. "So you don't remember three years ago when you were on your knees at my feet, crying and begging me to get you clean?"

"That never happened," Mack growled.

"You're the reason I'm in here, Mackenzie!" Quinn shouted.

"Fuck you!" Mack yelled as she lunged for Quinn. They landed in a heap on the floor, and Mack grabbed Quinn by her jumpsuit then punched her square in the jaw.

Quinn grunted but took no time to allow herself to feel pain as she wrapped her arms around Mack's waist, both legs around her calf and rolled them over. If it was one thing prison had taught her, it was that if she took the time to allow pain to sink in, she had already lost.

A small crowd gathered outside their room once they heard the scuffling and cheered on the fight as Quinn grabbed both of Mack's wrists in one grip and held an arm to her throat to restrain her.

Santana worked her way through the crowd to see what the commotion was all about. "Damn bitches," she muttered to herself.

Mercedes pushed through two people until she was inside the room. "Fabray okay?" she asked. Then she looked to the floor to find Mack pinned down. "Mack, you're back!" She winched. "And you look _really_ strung out."

"Just help me, Weezy!"

Mercedes glared at Santana as she moved toward Quinn. "I'll deal with you after this." She grabbed Quinn by the arm and yanked her up.

As soon as Mack stood, Santana grabbed her by the waist and tugged her backward as she tried to go after Quinn. "I'll kill you!"

Quinn said nothing, a grim look on her face as she glowered at Mack making a spectacle of herself.

"Pee yew, you smell like manure, fam," Santana griped, though she kept a firm grip on Mack.

"All right, ladies, scatter!" Officer Puckerman ordered as he walked through the crowd. "Everything all right in here?" he asked when he stepped into the room.

Quinn wrestled away from Mercedes grip with a rough nod. "Fine."

Santana placed a hand on Mack's mouth then grimaced. "Really don't know where those lips have been," she mumbled to herself. "Everything's great! Just rehearsing for that Christmas play coming up."

Puck stared at the four of them in suspicion. "This room can only be occupied by two at a time. If you wanna have your little get together, do it in the common area."

Mack jerked away from Santana then stormed out of the room.

Quinn walked out as well, going in the opposite direction.

Puck shrugged. "Not the two I expected to leave. But anyway, the two of you can't—"

"—Occupy an inmate's cell without them present, yada, yada, yada," Santana mocked, folding her arms across her chest as she and Mercedes meandered out. "I get it."

Once the coast was clear, Puck spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Hey, anyone know about a Christmas play this year?"

Kurt's voice radioed back. "Cancelled. It wasn't in our budget."

Puck frowned. "Huh."

* * *

She had been spotted by Burt and sent to receive medical attention for the bruise along her jaw she hadn't even known she had been sporting. Perhaps that was why everyone kept staring at her weirdly. One look in the compact mirror Kurt had whipped out from his back pocket, and Quinn had felt queasy. Her normally, smooth, pale features were marred by the purplish hue her cheek had taken on.

She held an ice pack to her jaw as Kurt insisted on questioning her. "Was it Sullivan?"

"For once, no," Quinn grumbled, as she thought back to how Mack had punched her. Mack had done many unsavory things while on drugs, including selling Quinn's iPod for crack money, but she had never hit her.

Her shoulders slumped.

There was a knock on the door, and Quinn peered around Kurt to find Rachel by the doorway. Kurt walked toward her. "Oh, thanks, honey. She's all yours!"

"Oh, but I wasn't—"

Kurt was already walking down the hallway.

Rachel turned to Quinn with an embarrassed smile. "I didn't mean to make him scurry off like that."

Quinn glared at the door Kurt had just walked out off. "Not your fault. They always dump their responsibilities onto others."

"Noted," Rachel responded, walking further into the room. "Will there ever come a time where I won't have to come check on my student in the medical ward?"

"No one asked you to," Quinn spat.

Rachel's eyes widened. "Quinn, I was just joking."

"Quinn?" Her eyebrow arched in that way. Her charm. She attempted to smile, but the bruised muscles in her jaw had other ideas and she winced in pain at the failed attempt. "Does that mean I get to call you Rachel?"

Rachel glanced behind her to make sure there was no one there, remembering how Finn had scolded her earlier. But really, she didn't see the harm in allowing one inmate to call her by her name, especially if, by the way Quinn had attempted to smile, she seemed to like the idea. "Only when we're alone."

Quinn bit her bottom lip. "Right back at you, Rachel."

Feeling her cheeks burn, Rachel glanced down at her hands, only to be reminded of why she had told Finn she was visiting Quinn in the first place. She unfolded the burnt construction paper in her hands then stepped closer to hand it to Quinn.

Quinn stared down at the charred image of the infant she had drawn.

"I was in the art wing earlier, asking around about the whereabouts of your friend—" Quinn looked up and held Rachel's eyes for a long moment with such an intensity it blew Rachel away. "I-I had stumbled upon this—someone had thrown it in the trash." Rachel watched the way Quinn clenched her jaw then winced in pain. "So I asked who this belonged to around the drawing department and everyone said this was your work. It's quite exquisite, Quinn." Rachel swallowed as she released it into Quinn's cautious grip. "If you don't mind my asking, who is she?"

Quinn stared down at the image. Most of the bottom had been burned to ashes, leaving only a nose, eyes, and half of the shape of the head. As her eyes traced the image she had created, they began to mist over. "My daughter," she whispered in a tone of voice Rachel had yet to hear.

The revelation took Rachel completely by surprise as she was once again reminded that all of these women had a life outside of these walls. She felt a twinge of something unrecognizable. "She's beautiful. Just like you."

Quinn nodded hurriedly with a sniffle. She couldn't bring herself to meet Rachel's eyes, so instead mumbled a genuine thank you.

Rachel felt herself smile. "You're so welcome, Quinn."

* * *

By lunch Mack hadn't made another appearance. Quinn glanced around the cafeteria once more before finally taking her seat with Brittany and Santana.

"Look, Fabray, the bitch sucker punched you. And though you look kinda hot with the bruising and everything, she didn't do you any favors."

Quinn sighed. "Lopez, I know you're trying to help me, but—"

"Help you?" Santana scoffed. "I'm trying to help _me_. Everyone's been watching you slowly lose your shit over Mack, Fabray. And you know what? It makes this family look weak. A house divided can't stand. And bitches been peeping that shit."

"A family is only as strong as its weakest member," Brittany added. "And right now our weakest member is strung out on crack."

"So what do you want me to do?" Quinn dared ask, glancing between the two of them.

"Ice the bitch. Cut her off," Santana demanded. "It's survival of the fittest. And right now she ain't fit to survive."

Quinn felt her blood boil. "Lopez—"

"You know I'm right, Fabray. In the real world, she was at the bottom of the food chain—stealing, wheeling and dealing to get a fix. It's no different here. Except here, she'd sooner get kill—"

Quinn abruptly stood from the table. "Shut up!"

Neighboring tables quieted down and turned to find Quinn glowering down at Santana. It was a rippling effect until the entire cafeteria was silent.

Rachel stared on at Quinn, mouth agape in shock.

Quinn's jaw clenched painfully, annoyed that she had garnered so much attention.

"Bitches be tripping," an inmate called out. Tension dissolved, the entire cafeteria broke out into laughter and conversation once more.

Quinn ignored the comment, thankful people were distracted again.

"This is exactly the kind of shit I'm talking about, Fabray," Santana growled.

Quinn paid her no mind. She glanced around for the nearest officer she saw and marched to him. "Where is Mack?"

Tanaka frowned, reaching for his taser. "Who?"

"My bunkmate," Quinn growled. "I haven't got all day."

"Now you just simmer down and watch your attitude," Tanaka told her even as he grabbed his walkie-talkie. "Anyone know what happened to Galiano? Fabray's cellmate?"

From across the cafeteria, Rachel perked up at the mention of Quinn, the only prisoner she had a true connection with.

"She's in solitary confinement," Sebastian announced to everyone over the walkie-talkie.

Quinn gasped. "Who. _Snitched_. On her?" she demanded, eyes blazing with fury.

Tanaka folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance to remind her just who she was talking to. "Something you wanna tell me, inmate?"

Quinn stared at him for a long moment then spun around and stalked across the cafeteria, everyone watching her exit.

A particular pair of concerned brown eyes followed after her. "Were they terribly close?" Rachel asked. She had heard that Quinn, Mack, Santana, and Brittany comprised a 'family' and that prison families often ran deeper than blood relatives because of all the trauma and backstabbing inmates endure together. But she was curious.

"Apparently Mack's who Quinn burned a crack house down for," Finn informed her.

Rachel grew silent. "It didn't say in her file that she burned down a crack house."

"Only facts are included in the files."

"Are you saying that isn't a fact?"

Finn leaned back against the cafeteria wall. "I'm just repeating what I was told."

"Ah," was all Rachel responded with, detecting the pattern of negligence that seemed to trickle down from person to person within the prison staff.

* * *

"Hey, Lopez!"

Santana turned around at the sound of her name. Approaching the bench she was resting her foot on to tie her shoe was a group of four women. Santana noticed the basketball in one of the women's hand and straightened to her full height. "What's shaking, girl?"

On the outskirts of the blacktop stood Rachel beside Finn. She looked from the pack of four girls to Quinn sitting on the tabletop of the bench in concern. "Should we intervene?"

"No, they're just—see?" Finn nodded in their direction once Brittany and Quinn stood to follow Santana and the group of girls to the court. "They're gearing up for basketball."

Rachel snorted. "Fabray's playing basketball? But she's so…so…_dainty_."

Finn scoffed. "She's a prisoner, Rach."

Rachel ignored the comment as she watched Quinn bend to touch her toes. It was a touch comical to think of someone such as Quinn as a basketball player. Though she played the role of hardened criminal well, the way Quinn carried herself, from how her hands came to rest at her sides, to how her shoulders rolled back whenever she walked, suggested she was much more suited for the role of cheerleader, not basketball player.

"Oh," Rachel mumbled a second later as Quinn dropped back with a swagger she hadn't been expecting. She did a little hop in the air then pocketed the ball in the net.

Quinn offered her opponent a breezy grin as she jogged across the court, slapping Santana's hand. "Who knew coming in you'd one day be a basketball player, fam?"

Quinn took the comment in stride with a breathless laugh. "Just block her will you." She looked to find Brittany already in position then glanced to their fourth player. "Hey—you." The girl was new and no one really knew much about her.

She was a gangly brunette who stood to full attention when Quinn called her. "I'm Marley."

"Last name," Quinn corrected in a stern, impatient voice.

With wide brown eyes she tried again. "Rose."

"Cute."

Rose couldn't be sure if the comment was sarcastic or not.

"Cover her," Quinn ordered. "And I've got Ball Girl."

The play began, and the ball was passed to the woman Brittany was guarding. Just as Quinn was running over to assist her, the woman she had named Ball Girl shoved her to the ground.

From across the field, Rachel frowned and took a step forward.

Quinn was up just as quickly as she fell, and strode toward the woman. "You got a problem, idiot?"

Brittany eyed the guards all beginning to look alive and stepped toward Quinn and the woman towering over her. "It's just a game, Fabray," Brittany cajoled.

"Yeah, Fabray, just a game," the woman baited.

Santana shoved past everyone. "I got this." She tugged on Quinn's arm to pull her away from the other woman. "Look, we get shoved around on this court _all_ _the_ _time_," Santana hissed. "And the only reason you're upset right now is because of Mack. Which is understandable, but let's not get our asses kicked here, all right?"

Quinn pulled away with a noticeable scowl on her face.

"You know I'm right," was all Santana said.

Wide eyed, Rose began to step away from the two groups.

"Are you all right, Fabray?"

Everyone turned to find Rachel approaching the group with Finn not far behind. Quinn turned to face her fully, eying Finn over Rachel's shoulder as she approached her.

The woman who had shoved Quinn to the ground scoffed. "What, you've got your own personal body guard now, Fabray?"

Quinn stiffened at the remark. "I'm fine, Berry."

Rachel looked between everyone toward Rose standing a few feet away. "Are you all right? You look frightened."

Santana whistled then looked at Rose, amused. "You're dead meat now, kid."

That seemed to be something both sides agreed on.

Rose swallowed. "I'm fine…I guess."

Rachel nodded. She glanced around at everyone. "I expect you all to have good, _clean_ fun."

Quinn swiftly stepped forward and snatched the ball away from her opponent. "Since you dipshits fouled me, I get ball."

The game returned to normal from there with Rose being hyperaware of everyone.

Santana clapped her hands loudly. "Feed me the ball, Rose!"

Quinn stopped to unbutton the top half of her jumpsuit, unable to take the sun beaming down on her. A gray tank top lay underneath, clinging to her skin that glistened with a sheen of sweat.

And Rachel was never one for sports, but she found herself watching this particular game rather intently.

* * *

After the hellish few days Quinn had endured, Rachel really hadn't expected her to be in the classroom when she arrived. But in all her glory, Quinn was slouched in her usual chair with her arms folded.

Rachel closed the door behind her. "Hi, Quinn."

Quinn looked up to find Rachel approaching the table. They sat at opposite ends as they normally did, and Quinn watched as Rachel placed her briefcase on the table, tucked her skirt under her and took a seat. Rachel didn't take her silence personally and instead reached into her briefcase for the books she had purchased. "I believe you asked for _1984_." She slid a copy of the novel across the table.

The blue eye on novel stared up at Quinn. "Thanks," she muttered.

Rachel smiled in encouragement. "I know you must be going through a difficult situation right now, but—"

"I gave my baby up," Quinn cut in. She met Rachel's eyes briefly then looked away. "I had her when I was sixteen then gave her away so that she could have a better life." The table wobbled as her leg shook. "I don't want you to think I got myself put here when I had a kid out there to take care of."

Rachel's lips parted in understanding. Quinn didn't want to be judged. She leaned forward in her seat and reached for Quinn's fist resting on the table. Quinn flinched in surprise at the unexpected, unfamiliar contact. She hadn't been touched like this in years. Prison didn't offer much comfort. So unless she was receiving a slap on the ass from Santana, an occasional bone crushing hug from Brittany, or…a punch in the face from Mack of all people, Quinn wasn't getting touched a lot. And she wasn't inherently a touchy feely person, so the sudden longing she felt knotting in her stomach from Rachel's hand on top of hers came as a surprise.

"I can assure you, Quinn. I'm not judging you…for anything." Guilt tugged at the corners of Rachel's lips. "In fact I-I admire you, really."

Quinn, who had been warring with herself on whether or not to pull her hand back, barely heard Rachel. When the words sank in, she looked up. "Really? Why?"

Rachel licked her lips nervously. "Because you burned down a crack house to save your friend's life. And I…sent someone to a crack house once."

Quinn pulled her hand back as if she had been burned. "Why would you send someone to a _crack_ _house_ of all places?" she asked incredulously.

Rachel reared back. "It was a mistake," she rushed out. "A stupid mistake. I was a dumb, selfish high schooler who didn't even stop to consider the consequences of my actions. And really, it's not like I dropped her off _inside_ the crack house. It was more along the lines of me giving her a false address in order to keep her from arriving at the same auditions as me—because she was a phenomenal singer and I didn't want competition—and the address _just_ _so_ _happened_ to be a crack house."

Quinn listened to the ludicrous retelling of the time Rachel sent someone to a crack house, and couldn't help the amused chuckle she let out. "You're ridiculous, Rachel," she finally spoke.

Rachel offered a half smile. "At least you're still my friend."

Quinn tilted her head to the side. "Friend?"

She turned shy and dipped her head to stare at the table. "I think we're kind of friends."

"Kind of," Quinn allowed in a quiet voice. "But my friends don't send people to crack houses. So try to cut down on that."

"It was a one-time thing!" Rachel groaned.

Quinn bit her lip to stifle a smile. She stared down at Rachel's hands on the table to notice a circular indentation on her left ring finger. The smile on her face evaporated as her lips pulled into a firm line. "You're married." Santana had been right.

Rachel looked at Quinn then down to the hand Quinn was staring at. She covered her left hand with her right as if trying to hide. "Engaged," she corrected in an even voice, unsure where Quinn was coming from.

"To Hudson."

"Yes."

Quinn leaned back in her seat. "I see." She took in the way Rachel covered her hand and shied away from her gaze. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Rachel answered. She looked up to meet Quinn's eyes. "I am."

"Do you love him?"

"I hardly see how that's any of your business, Quinn."

"Rachel." Quinn punctuated both syllables. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," she answered again."

"And you're getting married?" Quinn challenged. "I mean, you already said yourself, your life is at a dead end for someone so young. Wouldn't marriage make you feel even more trapped?"

"_I_ didn't say my life was at a dead end; you did!" Rachel suddenly snapped.

Quinn was quiet for a moment. Then, "I hit a nerve, huh? Besides, didn't hear you denying it."

"You are projecting," Rachel argued as she stood up, completely flustered and angry. "_You_ are the one who is stuck serving a five year sentence. _You_ are the one whose life is at a dead end. And you aren't about to make me feel bad for mine." Grabbing her briefcase, Rachel walked away from the table, leaving both copies of _1984_ on the table.

"Goodbye, Quinn."

* * *

_The judge's expression was stern. "I know your type, Miss Fabray. You come from an upper middle class background and think the world is your playground. So you flirt with the law a little bit while you're young and you get off for offenses because you're able to cry and curtsy your way through the legal system."_

"_This is my first offense," Quinn pointed out through gritted teeth as her eyes welled. She could already tell this wasn't going to work out in her favor._

"_And a big one." The judge adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "I can't just allow you to walk away from this. You have to accept responsibility for your actions, Miss Fabray."_

_Her chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths as her gaze dropped to the wooden table she was standing in front of. Her vision swam; her knees felt weak. She was nearly positive she was about to vomit her breakfast._

_It wasn't supposed to be this way. She had only been helping a friend, and anyone else who had ties to that crack house that they didn't have the strength to break on their own. Mack was one of those people. She wouldn't be able to stay away from the crack house as long as it was still standing. And Quinn couldn't have gone to the police without getting her friend in trouble. She had done all the right things, even waited until she knew for sure it was completely empty, then doused the whole place with gasoline, and set it on fire, set at least a dozen addicts free._

_But as she stood with her hands clenched into fists behind her back, waiting to hear her verdict, Quinn realized the meaning of no good deed goes unpunished._

"_I am sentencing you to five years in prison, Miss Fabray." The gavel struck the sound block, then her case was dismissed._

_It was over. Her life had finally, officially hit a dead end._

"_The next defendant is Mackenzie Galiano," Quinn overheard as she walked out of the courtroom with tears brimming in her eyes._


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by a reticent inmate and her band of detainees.

* * *

_Her therapist, Dr. Howell, pushed his glasses up his nose as he glanced down at his notes. He hummed a moment then looked up at her. "Emma, now comes the crucial part. This is the part where you admit this to yourself. Once you've admitted, and accepted this as a very real, a very big part of yourself, only then can you hope to tame it. Are you ready?"_

_She sat folded neatly in one corner of the couch with her legs crossed. Prim and proper, a lady who never took up too much space. Not a single hair stood out of place on her perfectly coiffed head. The scarf around her neck was tied with two even ends falling along her collarbone. Emma inhaled a long breath as she attempted to ready herself for this defining moment. "Okay, yes," she answer with a small nod._

_Dr. Howell smiled in encouragement. "Now I want you to say these words: My name is Emma Pillsbury, and I have an obsessive compulsive disorder. And that's okay."_

_Her heart palpitated. Dr. Howell said it was okay, but was it really? What was once a quirk that worsened into a disorder was now a cancer that ate at her sanity daily._

_Emma didn't really know when her obsessive compulsive disorder had snuck up on her. She just knew one day she didn't really mind a little mess and disorder, and the next it was the absolute worst thing in existence. The only traumatic experience she could think of to mark this abrupt and devastating change in her was when she was a little girl. _

_She liked animals very much, and would often visit the dairy farm a few miles outside the city she lived in. One time she visited, she was playing around with her brother as they always did. But this particular time, one thing led to another, and he ended up pushing her into a runoff lagoon. Ever since then, germs made her excessively anxious and disorder exasperated her beyond repair._

"_Come on, Emma," she heard Dr. Howell encourage her. "Give it a shot."_

"_My name is Emma Pillsbury, and I have an obsessive compulsive disorder," she exhaled. "And that's—that's…"_

* * *

The week was nearly over with no one coming any closer to figuring out who murdered Figgins. Though nearly every officer had let it go, knowing no inmate would break The Code and rat one another out, Sue Sylvester was hell bent on figuring out who it was.

She cornered a dripping, half-naked inmate on her way back to her cell from a shower, and towered over her. "What do you know?"

The inmate looked both unimpressed and tired with Sue's attempts of intimidation. "We both know you ain't got nothing on any of us," she sassed back with a roll of her neck. "So how about you step off and get off my back."

Sue's eyes blazed with fury as she looked down at the woman. "You watch your tone, or I'll send you to the hole."

Chastened, the inmate sunk back against the wall, and looked away. "Can I go now?" Without even waiting for Sue to respond, she skulked along the walls down the hallway.

Sue's nostrils flared in anger. She turned around and called after another inmate. "Hey, you! Yes, you, get over here!"

* * *

Quinn plucked the chewed up wad of gum from her mouth, placed it on the back of the drawing Rachel had retrieved for her, and stuck it on the wall above her bed. Her hand smoothed down what remained of her daughter, Beth's, face. She had never thought she would see the picture again, had told herself to keep moving without it. The fact that Rachel had been able to get her hands on it and return it back to Quinn was nothing short of a miracle. The fact that Rachel cared was a bit intriguing. After all, Quinn was just an inmate. But she was also the only inmate Rachel really interacted with, so in a way it only made sense that a certain…bond would form.

She turned to plop down on her mattress and glanced across the room to the empty bed she had made once she discovered Mack wouldn't be returning for two weeks.

Loneliness crept along the edges of her mind. Mack was in solitary, and they hadn't parted on good terms. As her best friend, Mack had often been the sole reason for Quinn's sanity over the years. Santana and Brittany were great, but at the end of the day they had each other to cuddle in bed with after a long day of just _surviving_. Where Quinn once had Mack to at least be across the cell in her own bed during nights where it all got to Quinn and left her in tears, now she didn't. She didn't have her best friend there to tell her to suck it up the minute she started throwing herself a pity party. In fact her best friend was part of the reason why she was currently throwing a pity party to begin with, because once Mack finally emerged from solitary, Quinn wouldn't really know where they stood.

* * *

Mack sat along the wall near the doorway. If she was silent enough, she could hear footsteps walking up and down the hallway. It was her only current connection with the outside world other than the occasional meals she received.

She felt…twitchy, among other things. Dirty, weak, Brutus—she felt like a lot of things.

She heard shuffling along her door and perked up as a stab of longing for human contact shot through her. A little door was opened and a tray was pushed inside. Mack reached up for it then stood to her full height, holding on to it to keep whichever officer was on the other side there. "I got a question."

Sebastian Smythe sighed and cocked his hip out. "What, Galiano?"

Sure that he would stick around, Mack pulled her tray into the cell and placed it on the floor. She braced her hands along the door and closed her eyes, attempting to imagine herself outside of this cramped cell. "Who snitched?"

Sebastian stepped closer to the door and dipped his voice lower. "From what I was told, Fabray was going around blabbering to everyone that would listen that you were using again."

Mack's eyes snapped open. "No…"

"Eventually a guard caught wind of it and…here you are."

"No."

"It was Fabray."

"_No_."

"She was sick of your _shit_."

"Stop it!" Mack shouted. She banged a fist against the door, and Sebastian gave a start.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" he hissed in a low voice. "I'm just telling you what you asked."

She had been thrown back a little over three years ago to the point where Quinn had chewed her out for the better part of fifteen minutes over the fact that Mack had sold her iPod for crack money. Quinn had been livid; two steps away from ending their friendship because it wasn't beneficial for either of them and Quinn felt she was enabling Mack's addiction somehow. With tears in her eyes, Mack recalled how she had dropped to her knees three years ago and begged Quinn to save her from herself. She was the reason, the sole reason Quinn was serving a five year sentence.

"You weaken her family," Sebastian continued. "You're a liability, and she can't afford to keep an addict in her protection."

And apparently Quinn had had enough.

Mack exhaled and stepped away from the door.

They had made a promise, she and Quinn. No matter what happened, they would always be there for each other. They would have each other's back, be each other's strength in the face of weakness while they were locked up here.

Mack's lips curled back into a sneer.

Quinn had broken her promise.

Mack yelled at the top of her lungs, kicking her tray of food across the room. She could hear muffled screams from the surrounding cells, and it only fueled her fury. Chest heaving up and down, she stared at the gray wall ahead of her, seething with rage from the information Sebastian just fed her.

* * *

Quinn's jaw slackened in muted shock when Rachel walked through the doorway. Arms folded across her chest, she was resting against the back of her chair, looking arrogant like she owned the place. "Gotta admit, I didn't think you'd show."

Relief surged through Rachel; they were on speaking terms. She closed the door behind her and briskly walked to the table. "Quinn, I—I'm sorry—"

"Don't." Quinn held a hand up, then waved away Rachel's apology. "Screw it. We both said some things, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"And you know what?" Quinn interrupted again. "You're right. My life is at a standstill, has been and will continue to be for quite some time. So I guess you win, Berry."

"No, no, no." Rachel pulled out her chair and swiftly sat in it. "I was not trying to win _at_ _all_," she explained. "I just—you were right. You did hit a nerve. You _always_ hit a nerve." Her laugh was bitter. "Ones that I wish weren't there."

Quinn studied her in silence. Rachel was a conundrum and a half. Just when Quinn thought she knew her, she didn't. Not really anyway. She knew what made Rachel tick, but she didn't know why. And for the life of her, Quinn couldn't understand why Rachel always showed her cards so readily. As a human being it wasn't wise, but as someone who worked in a prison, it was nearly suicidal.

"What nerves do I hit?"

Rachel looked up from her wringing hands to find Quinn observing her curiously. Her eyes fell to the fading bruise on her cheek, tracing the sharp edge of her jawline. They had been at this back and forth banter for so long, Rachel couldn't recall when her personal life had become the topic of discussion. "My life…is at a dead end," she admitted with difficulty.

She had expected Quinn to laugh in her face, tease her with 'I told you so's'. But to her surprise, Quinn's expression didn't change. "Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "Nothing excites me. I spent my whole life _fighting_ to get out of here…only to end up back here."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Prison?"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh. "_Lima_."

"You're from here? What high school?"

"McKinley. What about you?"

"John Adams Academy."

"Oh, a rich girl, huh?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "A regular 'Wasp.'"

The nickname triggered a memory, and Rachel's eyebrows knitted. "Isn't that what Sullivan calls you?"

Quinn grimaced with a nod.

"But why?"

She pointed to herself. "WASPy. Though really Sullivan may as well be calling herself that when she uses the word."

Rachel laughed once, again, then repeatedly. The name was...fitting from what she observed about Quinn.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You think that name, that insult is _funny_?"

Her laughter came to an abrupt stop at the ice that had seeped into Quinn's voice. "I'm sorry. I was just—"

"It is pretty funny," Quinn admitted. Her face broke out into a smile that was spectacularly breathtaking. "Lopez used to call me that as a nickname until Sullivan got a hold of it and made it an insult."

Rachel couldn't help but mimic her smile. "You guys are all pretty close, huh? N-not you and Sullivan, but you and Lopez, Pierce, and Galiano?"

Quinn folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat. Though her body language screamed closed-off, she surprisingly answered the question. "Mack and I have been close since high school." Her thoughts turned dark as she thought back a couple of days ago when Mack punched her. "And I met Pierce and Lopez when I got here. But enough about me. Where'd you go when you left Lima?"

"New York," Rachel sighed wistfully. "It was everything I dreamed it would be."

Quinn made a face at Rachel's wide eyed expression. "What's in New York?"

"_Culture_," Rachel stressed as if that were obvious. "And_ Broadway_, which, let's be real, are synonymous."

"You _have_ to be a theater nerd."

Rachel huffed. "We prefer the term _thespian_."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "So you go to New York for _Broadway_," she mimicked, "yet now you're back here. What happened?"

"_Life_ happened." The light in Rachel's eyes dimmed. "Turns out the financial aid package NYADA graciously bestowed upon me my freshmen year was very much a onetime thing. My fathers—" Quinn tilted her head "—did everything they could to come up with the money for the remaining three years because this was my dream school. And well…eventually I graduated. And I knew it would be difficult to find work at all, but especially right away, so I waited tables and stayed in a small apartment until making ends meet became impossible. Not to mention the fact that my loans for school will kick in, oh, right about now."

Her story was both exciting and heartbreaking, riveting. Quinn leaned forward. "So you come back to Lima to work at a prison?" Her tone was curious because two and two didn't seem to match up. "I mean, you probably could have at least gotten a news anchor position or something. A weather-woman." She laughed at the imagery.

Rachel scoffed in exasperation at her laughter. "I applied to all types of positions, though news anchor neglected to come to mind, I'll admit. Then Finn pulled some strings to get me this one. It pays way more than minimum wage, which is something I need right now."

Her last sentence made enough sense. "So when are you going to go back?" Quinn wondered.

"Back where?"

"New York, Broadway, culture."

Rachel chuckled, a touch bitter. "Broadway is something I'd have to get _to_ instead of back to," she lamented.

"So stop bitching and just go."

The nostalgic dreamland she had created had been shattered, and Rachel turned to find Quinn staring at her with a shit eating grin on her face. Rachel's chin jutted out. "It's not that easy, you know."

Quinn looked around them. "Well you've got a leg up over nearly everyone else in this place."

Her eyes gleamed. "Because of my undeniable talent?"

Quinn snorted. "Because you aren't serving a lengthy sentence that keeps you chained to this place."

"Aren't I?" Rachel challenged bitterly.

"_No_," Quinn insisted, leaning forward in her seat. "Actually, you can pack up and leave anytime you want."

"With what money?"

Her tone of voice sounded forceful in its desperation, knocking Quinn back into her seat.

"Believe me, if I had even an _ounce_ of money, I'd be on the first thing smoking." Her eyes grew wide as saucers, lip quivering. "But I _don't_, Quinn. I have nothing."

Quinn's jaw clenched. "You have Finn."

Rachel wiped at the corner of her eye, nodding her head. "Yeah," she conceded in a small voice. She cleared her throat. "Either way, I'll get there one day. I'm sure of it."

Quinn nodded along in silence. She rubbed along her arm, studying Rachel. "I can't believe you're from here."

Rachel glanced over at her, unsure whether she was supposed to take offense or not. "Why is that?"

Quinn shrugged a shoulder. "No one here really has ambition. And then there's you talking about how you're going to do this, and going to be that. I don't know it's just…weird."

"I got that a lot in high school," she offered with a roll of her eyes.

"Not weird in a bad way. Just…different." Quinn mulled over her own words. "If you're gonna do something with your life, then do it. It's pointless to just squander it away in mediocrity."

"I agree," Rachel voiced in a soft tone. Never in her life did she think she would be receiving life lessons and motivation from an arsonist who was serving five years. Her issue of getting to New York wasn't easily fixable, but Quinn was right about one thing: at this very moment she had a better shot than hundreds of inmates who were serving sentences anywhere from four months to life. And while it wasn't the most uplifting speech Rachel had ever heard, it was one that put a halt on her pity party for the time being. "Thank you, Quinn, really."

Quinn shrugged off the appreciation. "So how long have you and Hudson been engaged?" she inquired instead.

The change in subject gave her whiplash, and Rachel struggled to keep up. "Since our senior year in high school."

"So four years. Yet…you're not married."

"We planned to save the marriage until after we—I graduated college." Rachel mentally cursed herself for the slip-up, knowing like a wolf that smelled blood, Quinn would be on it.

"He didn't go to college?"

"It wasn't for him," Rachel replied stiffly.

Quinn eased up, barely. "So why aren't you married?" she challenged instead. "You've already graduated."

"I just explained my financial situation, Quinn. Don't you think a wedding would be a little unwise?"

Quinn placed her elbow on the desk with her head in her hand. "I suppose."

The conversation lulled, and Rachel drummed her fingers together as she stared at the circular indentation on her ring finger. She toyed with the idea running through her mind, before she finally decided to speak it. "You know what I think?"

"Oh, you're one of _those_ people."

Rachel frowned, already perceiving it as an insult. "One of what people?"

"One of those people who say 'you know what I think?'" Quinn smirked.

"You're insufferable," Rachel grumbled.

"You were saying, Rachel?"

She didn't get to hear Quinn say her name often, and the cadence was interesting, Quinn's voice raspy. "So I had been thinking over the weekend, and I think the reason why you responded so harshly to my engagement to Finn is because you're harboring an attraction to me." She could have been way off base, and winced a little once the words left her mouth, because how stupid did they sound?

But to her utter confusion, Quinn _smiled_. It was a smug, little knowing grin that suddenly made Rachel uneasy. "Is this the point where we pretend it's one-sided?"

Rachel froze, her face draining of color. "I don't—"

"Of course you don't. The fact that you want me is so latent, you have yet to even fully realize it."

If Quinn would have been anyone else, Rachel would have called them out on such a lame pick-up line. But Quinn struck Rachel as the type who didn't use one-liners, at least cheesy ones. The knowledge that Quinn was being completely serious with her made Rachel's heart pound in anxiety. "_What_?" Not the most intelligent response, but it was all she had.

Quinn shook her head. "Nothing. Because I'm going to sit here and tell you about yourself again, and then you're gonna get all huffy and storm out. So let's just read, okay?" She slid Rachel's copy of _1984_ across the table toward her.

Rachel didn't know what was more unnerving. The fact that Quinn thought she had feelings for her, or the fact that Quinn didn't seem to be remotely interested in talking about it. Her mind was in a daze as she flipped to the first page, and brought the book up to shield her face as she eye balled Quinn from over top of it. "Read," she mumbled, more so to herself in an attempt to establish normalcy.

With twinkling eyes, Quinn followed Rachel's idea and shielded her face with the book in an attempt to hide her amused smile. "Read," she agreed. "And time will tell the rest."

* * *

Mike danced through the crowd of officers to situate himself in the middle. He held up an envelope, promising, "I have in my hand…_the_ _future_."

"Yeah, quit showing of, Chang!" Puck laughed.

Sue widened her stance and folded her arms across her chest. Bottom lip taken between her teeth, she anxiously looked on at Mike.

Rachel could barely contain her nerves. She locked onto Finn's arm and held on for dear life while she hoped all of her campaigning had paid off.

Schuester stepped forward in the huddle as Mike ripped open the envelope. "Drum roll, please."

Puck slid onto the table and began banging his knuckles against the wood.

"And your new warden is…" He glanced around the room. "Officer Schuester!"

"Yes!" Rachel hopped up once then started clapping. "This is awesome!"

Schuester's eyes closed in relief.

Sue growled and stormed across the huddle. She knocked over everything on the table, including Puck who narrowly missed busting his ass, then walked out of the office.

No one else reacted strongly one way or another. Mike shook Schuester's hand. Burt patted him on the shoulder, and Puck offered a congratulatory smile.

Schuester took the floor. He thanked the room that was rapidly clearing out. "Really, guys, it's an honor and a privilege to work alongside all of you. And as your new warden, know that you can come to me with any comments, questions, or concerns."

He was now only talking to Rachel and Finn. Finn nodded and headed toward the door. "Come on, Rach."

"Actually, Finn, I need to stay behind and have a few words with Offi—_Warden_ Schue."

"Please, call me Officer," Schuester insisted. "Nothing really has to change."

"So humble," Rachel gushed.

Finn cut her an odd look. He lingered for a moment and glanced between the two of them then walked out of the room.

Rachel turned back to Officer Schuester with a smile. "Congratulations! I knew my vigorous campaigning would pay off for us both!"

Schuester offered an odd smile at the way she managed to pay a compliment to herself in light of his victory. "Thanks, Berry. I couldn't have done it without you."

She nodded, smile still in place. "Well, I should probably be going now."

"Actually, Berry," he called toward her back.

Rachel turned around to find Schuester approaching her. "I was actually thinking about making some changes around here. And I couldn't think of a better catalyst for change than you."

Her face grew serious though she bubbled in excitement. "I couldn't agree more, Officer Schue. I think it's time things changed for the better for the inmates here."

He smiled in appreciation. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Tell you what, why don't we take a couple of days and think of some ways to improve morale around here and get back with each other."

She could tell she had chosen the right person as warden, and was confident that Officer Schuester, with her help of course, was going to change this prison around for the better. "I think that's a lovely idea."

* * *

Santana scraped off the mold on top of her pudding, ignoring the way her stomach churned. "You hear the news?"

"Schue won." Quinn glanced across the table at her. "Nice."

"Nice?" Santana snorted. "Aren't you forgetting something, Fabray?"

She frowned in confusion then her mouth opened. "Oh. Your breadstick."

"Damn right."

"Hold on." Quinn slid smoothly out of her seat then sauntered across the cafeteria.

Rachel held her breath. Sleek in her movements, Quinn sashayed toward her side of the cafeteria, and Rachel knew she would be a fool if she attempted to talk herself into thinking Quinn wasn't coming right toward her.

The deer in headlights expression Rachel was currently sporting amused Quinn to no end. It was nice to know three years in prison and no make-up didn't change the effect she could have on people. She came to a stop in front of Rachel, casted an annoyed glance at Finn, then smiled at Rachel. "You won."

Rachel blinked. That was the absolute _last_ thing she expected Quinn to say. Her smile was genuine and a touch shy. She had no idea Quinn had been following her campaign. "_He_ won, but—oh, who am I kidding? I won!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Hey, listen, Berry, I was wondering if I could ask you a question about class." Her eyes cut to Finn. "Alone."

Finn squared his shoulders. "You got something to say to her, you can say around me, inmate."

"What I have to say to her is about class. And contrary to _your_ belief, your role as fiancé doesn't exempt you from the rules of confidentiality," Quinn responded coldly. "So step on, Hudson."

Finn unfolded his arms and stepped closer.

"Finn." Rachel grabbed his arm. "Just patrol the perimeter for a moment. Please?"

Quinn's jaw clenched as she studied the way the two of them interacted. After a moment Finn nodded. "I'll be right back," he promised Rachel and threatened Quinn.

"Take your time," Quinn called after him.

Once he was out of earshot, Rachel turned to Quinn. "You cannot undermine him that way just because you're jealous," she hissed.

Quinn folded her arms across her chest. "Jealous, that's rich. Please, make yourself sound more important, Rachel."

Rachel huffed. "I don't have to take this from you, you know." Silence befell them as they both absorbed the words that had just been uttered. Rachel sighed. "Did you vote?" Her lame attempt at changing the topic.

Quinn nodded. "I even got some other people to vote for Schue."

Her eyes lit up at the revelation. "Really? That is…really amazing, Quinn." Her voice quieted. "Really amazing."

"Yeah, umm…" Quinn glanced away from the way Rachel was staring at her. "Look, what I came over here to say was that I kind of made Lopez a promise for voting for Schue."

Anxiety shot down Rachel's spine. In prison, a promise could consist of literally anything from trading gum, to trading people. "W-what was the promise?"

Quinn laughed. "Geez, Rachel, don't look so scared. It's just a breadstick."

"I'm sorry." Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Lopez likes breadsticks…from Breadstix. So if you could get her a breadstick for voting for Schue—"

Rachel laughed in relief as understanding dawned on her. "For getting people to vote for him, I'll get you a basket of breadsticks, Quinn."

Quinn tucked her thumbs into the belt loops of her blue jumpsuit and rocked back on her heels. "Okay, cool. Thanks."

"Thank you," Rachel responded.

They both stared at each other in silence, until Quinn backed away with a little wave and jogged back to her table.

"So I gets my stick?" Santana asked once Quinn sat at the table once more.

"You get a whole basket," Quinn informed her with a smug quirk of her lips.

"Oh, hell yeah!"

"This is like, an early Christmas or something." Brittany grinned. "So awesome."

Quinn swelled with pride as Santana and Brittany planned a date night for when they finally got their breadsticks. It felt good to be able to provide for her family. Still, she couldn't help but feel guilty for how she and Mack left off. Perhaps if Quinn had shown compassion instead of frigidity upon discovering Mack was high, she would have been able to keep Mack below the radar until she got clean again. But Quinn's instinctive reaction was defense, because a Mack on drugs and a Mack off drugs were two different people; and she had been burned by Mack on drugs one too many times in the past.

Be that as it may, Mack was still her friend, and Quinn hoped more than anything that she was holding it together in solitary, and that soon they could patch things up.

Across the cafeteria, Terri was sauntering out of the exit. She made a right then came to a stop beside Officer Smythe. He glanced down one end of the hallway, while she covered the next. "Did what I asked you?"

Sebastian looked down at his feet, ashamed. "I said what you wanted me to say."

Terri smirked. "See what I said, Smythe? Everyone can be bought for a price."

"Yes, yes, you were right, okay? Now please destroy his phone."

She shrugged. "Of course. A deal's a deal."

* * *

Quinn pulled back her blanket. It was more of a thin sheet of paper than anything else, and like every year, she was going to freeze in the coming winter months.

There was a light knock on her doorway and Quinn spun around to find Emma Pillsbury standing there. Quinn straightened. "Pillsbury, what are you doing here?"

Emma continued to stand there. "I came to pay you a visit."

When she didn't come in, Quinn rolled her eyes. What was she, a vampire? "You can come in, you know."

Emma walked into the room. She didn't touch anything and stood directly in the middle of the cell.

"You can sit on the bed if you—"

"I'd rather stand, thank you."

Quinn nodded and chose to stand as well. "Was there something you needed?"

"Yes." Emma clasped her hands in front of her. "Mack is your friend, correct?"

"Of course," Quinn answered without missing a beat. "Why do you ask?"

"Then you will find this information beneficial. Sullivan and her friends were the ones to supply your friend with crack."

Quinn immediately felt her blood boil. Her fists clenched at her side as she wondered why in hell Sullivan and her friends didn't cross her mind in the first place. "How do you know this?"

Emma cleared her throat. "You forgot Hicks is my cellmate."

"So she is. Why would you share this with me?"

"I don't like mess," Emma informed her as if it were obvious. "Your cell is consistently the cleanest one in the whole prison besides mine. You take pride in where you live, and I respect that."

Never had Quinn thought her clean room of all things would benefit her in prison. "Thank you for bringing this to me, Pillsbury." It dawned on her that nothing in prison was free. "What did you want in exchange?"

Emma smiled kindly, thankful she didn't have to broach the topic herself. "Your bleach."

Quinn eyed her strangely. "Don't you have your own?"

"I recently ran out. And I need more to clean with."

She didn't bother to ask any more questions. Knowing who supplied Mack was worth all the bleach she had, which was only the two cup-fulls she stole off the cleaning supply tray the janitors carried around.

"Thank you again," Quinn said as she parted with her cleaning supplies.

Emma thanked her kindly then exited her cell.

Quinn grabbed the nearest object to her and flung it across her empty cell. It was a small bottle of shampoo she had used the little money her father allowed her mom to send to her to buy. The cap popped off of it, and it all spilled on the floor. Chest heaving, Quinn sunk to her knees, placing her head in her hands.

* * *

Rachel buried herself in her work as soon as she got home, both as a means of escape and a means of discovery.

She wanted, desperately, to escape Quinn. Unlike anyone Rachel had never met, Quinn had a way of burrowing under her skin. It unnerved Rachel to say the least. But Quinn had been wrong about one thing thus far—Rachel being attracted to her. Sure, Rachel, purely objectively, noticed how beautiful Quinn was. It was hard to miss. And it was especially impressive considering the girl had spent three years in prison thus far and walked around with glowing skin, and a pretty nice body.

Not that Rachel had checked Quinn out, really. It was just the one time outside when she was playing basketball.

She groaned at her own train of thoughts. Perhaps it was her own fault for allowing some leniency within their relationship. Being lenient with a prisoner only spelled trouble, but Rachel felt Quinn was different. Quinn was daring and bold, and a part of it was…rather enticing.

"Hey, whatcha doing?"

Rachel lurched forward in surprise. She clenched her eyes shut as her chest deflated with a breath. "I'm researching ideas for Officer Schue. He's looking for new ways to boost morale around the prison and I, for one, think it's a fantastic idea."

"Morale?" Finn frowned as he rested his arms heavily on the back of Rachel's chair. "Isn't that like, moral or something?"

"It's quite similar, yes." Rachel turned her head from side to side to stretch her neck. She felt a pair of lips ghost along her throat and bit back a tired sigh. "Finn…not right now, okay?"

Finn did sigh, and straightened to his full height. "Then when?" When she neglected to offer an answer, he grabbed her chair and swung it around until she was facing him. "You know you've been coming up with excuses for two weeks now."

Affronted, Rachel frowned. "I have not."

"You're always tired, or busy, or not feeling well, or unable to get in the mood."

Rachel counted back to the last time they had had sex. The weeks began to blur together until she honestly couldn't remember. It wasn't like she was purposefully trying to dodge Finn's advances. Things just—his timing was just always inconvenient. "Finn…" Her voice was soft and apologetic as she looked up at him.

"Are you and Schuester having an affair?"

She shot out of her seat. "_Excuse_ me? Finn Hudson, I think you need to think long and hard before you accuse me of having an affair."

"Then what's wrong? Am I not, what, sexy enough for you?"

Her eyebrows rose along her forehead at the question. "Finn—"

"That's it, isn't it?" He placed his hands on his hips. "You aren't attracted to me anymore."

Rachel reared back like she had been slapped in the face. The question had caught her completely off guard. What was even more surprising was that there didn't seem to be words of encouragement bubbling in her throat. Instead she stood there with shock written across her face, less at the question and more at the fact that…she didn't have a response.

"It's not that, Finn," she finally answered. "It's just—it's—"

"Go on, say it," he demanded.

"It's just—it's—it's mundane!" she finally admitted. Her chest heaved with a pained breath, and she pleaded with wide eyes for him to understand. "Finn, I need…fire and passion, some dynamism."

His face scrunched up in confusion and offense. "So suddenly the way I fuck you isn't good enough."

"Finn, must you be so crude?" Rachel tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's not to say your talents are lacking. It's just…Finn, I need more."

He folded his arms across his chest. "So what, Schuester's gonna give it to you?"

"No, no, Finn, _no_ _one_ is going to give it to me," she promised, though whether or not she was trying to reassure him or herself she wasn't sure.

Silence befell them. Rachel folded her arms across her middle as she stared at the floor, wondering just who she had become, and what she was even asking for. She and Finn had tried…_things_ before, a couple of new positions…once. It was…good. But every single time she felt a fire flare up within her and she looked to Finn…he didn't sate it. And she wondered when he had stopped being enough for her sexually. Horror struck her as she wondered just what the hell she was looking for.

Finn scoffed with a shake of his head. He stepped back to walk out of the room. When he reached the doorway, he turned to find Rachel staring at the floor. "You know, we've been engaged for four years."

Never had her engagement ring felt so heavy, the gold metal pressing into her finger. "I know that, Finn."

His chest heaved with a deep breath. "Do you—do you even _want_ to get married anymore?"

He let the question hang between them, and when Rachel didn't offer a response, he walked out of the room.

* * *

_It wasn't okay, not by a long shot._

_Rivulets of blood streaked across the bottom of the tub, swirling around the drain before slipping down the pipe._

_Her only refuge had been the knife lying on the cutting board. It was the only thing that would make her husband stop. _

_And now she couldn't get clean._

_She didn't like mess._

_She should have thought this one through._

_But germs frightened her, uncleanliness terrified her. And there was nothing clean about hot, thick drops of blood spilling on her blouse from the bloody nose her husband had given her. She could handle the bruises, but blood, dripping on her clean, pressed clothes, was something else entirely. And he knew, he knew how hard she fought just to keep her sanity some days, a mysophobe living in an unclean world._

_Emma's chest convulsed with hiccupping breaths as she got dressed. She pulled her freshly pressed skirt up her thighs, tucking her blouse inside before tying a scarf on the purple bruising along her neck, the ends hanging at even length._

_Then she picked up the phone and dialed three numbers._

"_911, what is your emergency?"_

_Emma's eyes slipped shut. "I just killed my husband," she sobbed._

_When police offers arrived, they were surprised to see how well put together Emma was considering the circumstances._

"_Ma'am, washing off the blood is considered tampering with the evidence," one of the officers told her._

_With haunted eyes, Emma looked up at him. "I don't like mess," was all she said._

_He sighed mournfully at the frail woman before him and the bruise along the bridge of her nose. "All right, just…just wait in the car."_

_Without being handcuffed, Emma walked to the police car and sat in the backseat, waiting to be detained._


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by a reticent inmate and her band of detainees.

* * *

"_Think about it. Who's gonna think two teenaged girls actually robbed a bank?"_

_Brittany twirled the end of her ponytail between her fingers as she considered Santana's proposition. It seemed simple enough: acquire guns, rob bank, live the rest of their lives together, rich. Her pupils practically exploded into dollar signs. But this just didn't feel right. "I don't know, Santana. Maybe it's my con-science, but—"_

"_Conscience, B," Santana corrected softly._

_Brittany sat up on the bed, wholly confused. "But it's spelled c-o-n-s-c-i-e-n-c-e, Santana. Con-science, duh."_

_Santana strolled toward the bed. She placed her hands atop the comforter and leaned closer to Brittany. "Tell you what, let's Google how to pronounce it. I'm right, we do it—we rob the bank."_

_Blue eyes twinkled in excitement and anxiety. "And if I'm right? No matter how slim that chance may be."_

"_There's a chance," Santana encouraged. "If you're right, what do you want?"_

"_I want the thing," Brittany rushed out._

_Santana smirked knowingly. "The thing?"_

"_You know. The thing…with your tongue. Only…there."_

"_Rim job, right."_

_They both giggled. "You're so bad," Brittany accused as Santana leaned in for a kiss._

"_To the bone, baby."_

* * *

Quinn walked through the doorway and into Brittany and Santana's cell without so much as a knock. She stood in the middle of the small room with her arms folded across her chest, ignoring the way Santana swore to her in Spanish.

"Do you know how fucking hard it is to get your mack on in a place that doesn't even offer _doors_?" Santana shrieked.

Once again being reminded of how alone she was in prison, especially without Mack, Quinn's head lolled to the side so she could give Santana a cutting look. "No, actually, I don't."

Santana shrugged as she and Brittany finally managed to pull the blankets around them. "Not my fault…"

"Look, I'm not here to watch the two of you get busy," Quinn snapped. "I'm here because Pillsbury came clean about who got Mack hooked on drugs."

"Pillsbury?" Brittany looked mystified and a touch apprehensive. "Are you sure you want to trust her?"

"B's right. I wouldn't trust that psychopath as far as I could throw her."

"She's not a psychopath. She just really likes for things to be neat, and kind of freaks out when they aren't."

"Freaking out and stabbing her husband to death are two very different things, Fabray."

"I get that, Lopez. But I trust her on this one."

"Okay, fine, I'll bite." Santana sat up straighter on her twin-sized bed. Cellmates weren't allowed to combine beds, so she and Brittany had decided on their first night of prison to just choose one to sleep on indefinitely. "Who the hell did Pillsbury finger—" Brittany giggled and Santana smirked "—for getting Mack hooked on crack again?"

"Sullivan," Quinn responded evenly. "And her crew."

Suddenly things weren't very funny anymore. Brittany's laugh abruptly died in her throat. "Seriously?"

Confident that she now had their undivided attention, Quinn began to pace about the cell, lost in her own thoughts. "I mean, think about it. Who else would go for Mack that way, knowing the three of us would retaliate if we found out?"

Santana frowned. "And with the no-snitching rule, we never would've found out. But wait, why the hell would Pillsbury tell you?"

Thinking they would once again question Emma's mental health if she revealed what was said to her, Quinn shrugged and muttered, "She wanted some bleach, so she traded the information she had for a cupful or two."

"But how would she really know anyway?"

"Hicks and Pillsbury are cellmates, remember?" Brittany reasoned. "Maybe she overheard Hicks say something."

"The questions remains: how the hell did they get their hands on crack, though?" Santana asked.

"It's prison. That stuff's everywhere, no matter how much the guards want to pretend that they've cracked down on it." Brittany held in a giggle at the unintentional pun. Quinn's face was marred with disgust and anger at the fact that after spending over a year and a half sober, Mack had not fallen, but been _pushed_ off the wagon. "This was a low blow," she muttered to herself.

Santana nodded along. "What do you wanna do about Sullivan? Because you know she was the ringleader of this whole thing."

"Kill her."

Brittany's eyes widened as a million protests fired off in her head.

Santana's expression grew severe. She had been waiting for this day. "I'm on it."

* * *

Sue burst through the office Schuester had acquired as the new warden. She glanced around to see boxes on the floor, and frowned. "I would have unpacked so much quicker."

Schuester sighed and gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat, Sylvester."

"I'll stand, thanks," she insisted as she walked toward the desk to stand behind the chair.

Schuester reached into his desk to grab a stack of papers. He made a show of flipping through them then placed them on the desk. "These are all the complaints I've received within the past couple of _days_ since I've been elected as warden, Officer Sylvester."

Sue shrugged. "I fail to see what this has to do with me."

"These are complaints made in reference to you." He handed her one, and Sue made a blatant show of not even glancing at it. "Several inmates have complained about feeling harassed by you while you've been on your manhunt to find out who killed Figgins."

"At least I've gone out into the trenches to find out who did this," Sue snarled. "_I_ was the one who met with Figgins' family when they visited on more than one occasion because they want to find out just who killed their husband and father and what will be done to that murderer."

Schuester frowned at the implication that he wasn't doing his job. "I get that they want justice, Sylvester. Hell, we _all_ do. But you know as well as I do that the number one code around inmates in this place is Don't Snitch. That, and you can't harass an entire prison for one inmate's actions."

"How do you know it was one?" Sue challenged. "Sounds to me like you know more than meets the eye."

"That's it, we're done here." Schuester stood. "You are hereby being ordered to stop harassing the inmates, or I will have your badge for this, Officer Sylvester."

Sue reared back at the threat. "I'll see you in hell," she promised before turning to walk out of the office.

* * *

Rachel placed a bookmark on the page she left off on and closed her book. "Would you like to discuss now?"

Quinn laid her book on the table top, beside the ziplock bag full of breadsticks Rachel had delivered. She had a lot on her plate as of late and thus, hadn't read nearly as far ahead as the page she lied about being on would suggest. But she had seen that Rachel had read about a third of the book, and so Quinn flipped that far ahead as well. Orwell was one of her favorite authors, however, and Quinn was confident she could skate through this with relative ease, having read _1984_ four times already. "Sure."

Rachel felt a little eager. She had never been in a book club, and had never had anyone to discuss literary masterpieces with. It was a nice change of pace to have an open forum for intelligent discussion. "What are your thoughts on the protagonist?"

Quinn smirked. The question was just too easy. "I think Winston is an individual, with his own thoughts and ideas, and ultimately I think that's what causes so much trouble for him." Quinn leaned back in her seat and stared at Rachel head on. "He operates in a world where everyone is happy just following the status quo like mindless sheep without ever asking a question, never rebelling. Winston, a person who can form his own thoughts and ideas, grows tired of the monotony."

"The monotony?" Rachel pressed.

"You disagree?"

"I think the monotony is the least of his worries."

"Then what is his biggest worry?"

"_Big Brother_!" Rachel supplied as if it were obvious. "His biggest worry and strife really, is that he can't act or even _think_ without being monitored. The fact that his thoughts and actions go against the regime is secondary, I would argue."

"The fact that his thoughts and actions go against the regime is the heart of the story!" Quinn pointed out, wildly gesturing toward the book. There was so much fire and passion in her eyes that Rachel felt she couldn't look away. "_Everyone_ gets monitored—it's an everyday, twenty-four hour a day occurrence. The fact that Winston's thoughts go _against_ Big Brother is why this story is being told in the first place."

Rachel licked her lips. Her hands clenched on the tabletop and she pulled them into her lap. "Very well then."

Quinn eyed her strangely. "What's the matter? Give up?"

"_No_." Rachel made a show of rolling her eyes and Quinn laughed. "It's just—you have your opinion and I have mine. Both have been expressed so we can move on."

"No fighting a bloody battle until one of us dies and the other remains victorious, free to reign over all the land and express their opinion forever? Pity."

"How barbaric," Rachel drawled.

Quinn leaned forward, bracing her hands on the table. "I'm sure even _you_, Miss Uptight Tightwad, have an inner barbarian just waiting to come out."

When Rachel stiffened at the remark, Quinn knew she had gone too far. She eased back into her seat and folded her arms across her chest.

Rachel fidgeted under Quinn's scrutinizing gaze. It was always intense and unwavering, like Rachel was the focal point of her attention. And, as Rachel casted a glance to her left and right, she reasoned Quinn didn't have much else to focus on except her. "What, umm, what do you think of the protagonist and his love affair?" she asked in the deafening silence.

Quinn hummed and bit her lip. "Do I make you nervous?"

"That's hardly here nor there," Rachel answered.

Amused, Quinn picked up her book and pretended to flip through it for evidence to support her forming theory. "I think their relationship is inherently forbidden," Quinn began, pensive. "And I think on some level it excites Winston. I think he goes from day to day living such a mundane life. And then he stumbles upon a woman who excites him in a way he hadn't felt in so long, in a way he's probably never felt."

Rachel squirmed in her seat. She couldn't help but feel like Quinn was attempting to describe her based on assumptions. She clenched her thighs together and picked up her book, preferring to glance at black letters on white pages, than Quinn staring directly at her.

Quinn smirked. "And like a moth to a flame, he can't help but be attracted, can't help but set up secret rendezvous to get his fill because it will never be enough."

"Quinn…" Rachel's breath sounded foreign even to her own ears.

"It's the danger that he secretly likes," Quinn guessed. "The unknown, the what ifs. Because he's an explorer, and he can't help his curiosity."

They weren't discussing Winston anymore; that much Rachel knew. They had gotten so off-topic, so quickly that she didn't even know how to get them back in the road anymore.

"And he can't help but think what if she's smarter, what is she's more interesting...what if she's better in bed?"

Rachel gasped. "That's enough."

Quinn placed her book on the table. "Am I lying?"

Distraught, Rachel could barely raise her voice above a whisper. "What do you want from me?"

"Admit that you want me," Quinn demanded.

A shiver shot down Rachel's spine. "I can't."

To Rachel's surprise, Quinn didn't fly on the defensive. Instead, her words seemed to shock Quinn into silence. Her silence was filled with contemplation as she mulled over Rachel's words. Quinn guessed it would be the closest thing to a confession she'd ever get, really. It both excited and incensed her. "Then I guess working here will be hell for the duration of my sentencing, huh?" She roughly stood from the table, nearly knocking her chair to the ground. Quinn grabbed her book and the ziplock bag then walked to the exit.

Rachel felt completely crestfallen. Quinn was the closest thing she had to a friend in such an unfriendly environment, and it killed her to think she was upset with her. She stood and began gathering her things when a hand landed on her shoulder. She was spun around and came face to face with Quinn. Instinctively, Rachel wilted under Quinn's piercing gaze and formidable form standing over her. But she found she couldn't look away. Quinn was…Quinn was _beautiful_.

It was something that Rachel had been painfully aware of. But standing in front of her, looking up at her clear, nearly unblemished skin save for the fading bruise on her jawline, Rachel found her even more breathtaking. She looked as if she were carved from the most expensive marble, both from her even skin tone and unmoving facial features.

Her eyebrows were perfectly sculpted without a hair out of place. They sat along a proud forehead that bled down to a small, pointy nose. Her face curved out into pink lips that reminded Rachel of flower petals. But Quinn's most defining features were her eyes. Hazel in color, they were unearthly intimidating, unwaveringly focused, and very keen to everything and everyone.

Rachel rested her hand back on the table in an attempt to escape Quinn's undeniable body heat. Even through her jumpsuit, Rachel could practically _feel_ how soft Quinn's body would be. She sighed and looked away, eyes clenching shut. "Quinn…please leave. Now."

"Why?"

She shivered when Quinn's warm breath fanned out across the side of her face. She was that much closer and Rachel felt her heart palpitate. "Because this is wildly inappropriate." Her stomach tightened when she felt a warm hand press against her chest. Rachel's eyes popped open. She turned to Quinn to find her already watching her.

Quinn felt Rachel's erratic heart beat against the palm of her hand. "Yet so exciting, isn't it?" she needlessly asked.

Rachel grabbed her wrist, fully intending to pull Quinn's hand away when Quinn leaned closer. Their lips were only millimeters apart. Rachel swallowed, her voice pleading. "Quinn."

"Do you know why the caged bird sings?"

Brain already melted into goo, Rachel wasn't too sure what Quinn was expecting of her in this moment. She tried her best to string together a response, all the while struggling for self-control. "Y-you want your freedom?" she asked shakily.

Pink lips swam in her vision, and Rachel watched them curve upward into a smile. "I wasn't referencing myself, Rachel."

The gasp that tore through Rachel was nearly painful. She stood there in shock as Quinn pulled away completely.

Quinn stared down at Rachel's flushed face and heaving chest in both triumph and frustration. She unbuttoned her jumpsuit to reveal a pink bra before shoving the ziplock bag down a pant leg. "My eyes are up here, Berry."

Rachel's eyes snapped to Quinn then away as Quinn laughed in her face. She rubbed her lips together and pointedly looked to the wall.

"I'll see you around."

It wasn't until Quinn was out of the room when Rachel finally turned back around to face the empty room.

* * *

Brittany walked into the cell, duffel bag slung over her shoulder and simultaneously exhausted and energized. Dance had a way of doing that to her. She spied Santana with her back to the doorway. The top half of her jumpsuit was bunched around her waist, exposing the curve of her back and the black bra she was wearing. More than a little interested, Brittany approached. "Santana?"

Santana sounded distracted at best. "Yeah, B?"

Brittany rounded on her to find a screwdriver in one hand with duct tape on the back of it. Santana's breasts were on full display, bra pushed up above them. And though the sight never failed to captivate Brittany, she couldn't ignore the red flag that went off in her head. "Santana, what is going on?" she asked in alarm, cutting her eyes to the doorway then back again.

"What's it look like? I'm taping this screwdriver to my underboob."

Brittany yanked the screwdriver out of her hand. "You aren't duct taping anything to your underboob."

Santana shrugged, not understanding what the big deal was. "It's not like I haven't done it before."

Brittany sighed and turned to slide the screwdriver under her mattress. "Santana, what don't you understand here?" she hissed. She was so used to being the clueless one, her new role as the informer was throwing her for a loop. "This is a _screwdriver_; it's considered a _weapon_."

With a furrowed brow, Santana dropped back a step to have Brittany fully in her vision. "Britts you heard Fabray. I finally get the chance to wipe out Sullivan and I'm taking it."

"But this is murder we're talking about!" Brittany shouted as Santana walked around her to get to the screwdriver under the mattress.

Santana swiveled around. "I know what it is!" she whispered harshly. "Keep your voice down."

"Santana, you're a robber, not a murderer, okay? Please don't do this," Brittany pleaded.

"You're not a murderer either, B. But look where we are. Sometimes we have to do what we have to do."

"I didn't do what I had to do; I was just too stupid to put the safety on!" she shouted.

Incensed, Santana stepped closer until she and Brittany were face to face. "You are _not_ stupid, Brittany. Don't say that about yourself."

Brittany's eyes began to water. Even when they were upset with each other, Santana always fiercely protected her honor. "Santana, please don't do this."

Santana lifted her shirt to tape the screwdriver under her breast. "It'll all be fine once I get her out of our hair, B," she promised. "Gotta do what she failed to—cut the head off. They're like a worm, once you get rid of the most important part, they're done for."

"That's not true," Brittany halfheartedly protested. "Worms regenerate. You cut the head off, it'll just grow another one."

Despite the situation at hand, Santana's lips curved into a smile. "So it will. But theirs won't." She winked at Brittany to put her at ease then strolled over to the door. Just as she was crossing over the threshold, Brittany called after her. "Santana, if you kill her, I'll tell Schuester that you were the one who killed Figgins."

Santana stopped dead in her tracks, blood running cold. She spun around in place and stared at Brittany several feet in front of her. "What did you just say?"

Brittany tried her best to keep her voice firm, but it was hard enough just keeping her feet planted on the ground when it felt like her legs would give out from under her. "You heard me, Santana."

"Are you—are you _blackmailing_ me right now, Brittany?"

Her throat bobbed with a tight swallow. "If that's what it's called, then yes."

Scared and confused, Santana stepped into her cell, her sanctuary for the past five years. Brittany, _her_ Brittany just threatened to break the number one rule, to rat _her_ out. It was ludicrous and completely unfathomable. "Why would you—how do you even _know_?"

"I saw it," Brittany declared mournfully. Santana looked utterly heartbroken and suddenly Brittany wished she could take it all back. "You stabbed him, Santana."

"It was an _accident_!" Santana roared. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was near then walked further into the room. "It was an accident, Brittany," she hissed.

"_I_ _know_. This is _me_ you're talking to, Santana. I know how accidental murder can be." Her face was ashen, and Santana eased up, knowing that five years had done nothing to erase the guilt that sat on Brittany's shoulders every day.

"It was…it was an accident, B." Her vision began to blur as tears stung her eyes. "I didn't mean to. I was trying to escape the riot; that's all. And he—I picked up a shank I found lying on the ground, just in case. But I ran, B. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I _ran._" She began to shake.

Brittany hiccupped a sob. "I know you did."

"And I had finally found a hallway that was completely unpopulated. So I figured I'd keep going and see where it leads, because they're probs gonna find this place sooner or later. So I kept walking. Then someone grabbed my shoulder, and I panicked. Then I turned with the knife in my hand—"

"And you stabbed him," Brittany whispered sorrowfully.

"It was an _accident_." Santana halfheartedly fought against Brittany's arms enveloping her. But in the end, she collapsed against Brittany as sobs racked her body. "It was an _accident_, B. _Please_ believe me."

Brittany lovingly wrapped her arms around Santana's shaking frame. "I know it was," she soothed. "I know."

"It was an accident, I promise," she sobbed.

"I know." Brittany held her tightly around the waist with one arm while she used her other hand to rub soothing circles along Santana's back. "_That_ was an accident, Santana. Taping a screwdriver to your underboob and stabbing Sullivan to death is murder-one. That's like, the death penalty, okay?" Santana nodded against her shoulder. "And I _refuse_ to lose you. You're not a cold-blooded murderer, Santana. Don't let this place turn you into one. What happened to Mack sucks, but she's still _alive_. Don't take a life when one hasn't even been wasted."

Santana clenched her eyes shut and buried her face in Brittany's neck. She had been walking around with this secret weighing down her shoulders for weeks. She couldn't imagine how Brittany had survived five years this way. And after feeling alone with this secret for so long, it felt good to finally be able to connect with Brittany again. They never withheld information from each other. And unbeknownst to Santana, the disconnect she had been feeling for the past several weeks was the same for Brittany.

They stood embracing each other for a long moment when Santana asked, "How'd you know?"

"I saw you running. I tried to call after you, but everything was too loud," Brittany explained. "But I saw where you were heading, took a different route, then I rounded the corner just as you were turning to stab him. I watched you panic, watched how you tried to save him. Then when you knew you couldn't, you used his shirt to wipe your prints off the shank and ran."

"Why didn't you _say_ anything?" Santana asked, desperation marring her voice.

"I was waiting for you. We never keep anything from each other, so I was willing to wait until you were ready." Brittany frowned. "Though it seemed like you'd never be."

Santana froze in fear. "Who else knows?"

Brittany stood back to cup Santana's face in her hands, forcing sorrowful brown eyes to look up at her. "No one else knows," she promised. "I haven't told anyone, not even Fabray. My loyalty lies with you first and foremost, Santana, always has."

Santana shuffled closer and placed a hand on Brittany's hip. "She did our family wrong, B. I know I talked shit about cutting Mack off, but that doesn't mean I don't care, okay? What they did to her is inexcusable."

"They did screw her over, like, a lot. But you don't pay back their wrongdoing with death. That's not how you handle issues in the real world."

Frustration gripped Santana and she threw her hands up and gestured around them. "Look around, B! We're not in the real world!"

Accustomed to her blow ups, Brittany remained even-toned and coaxing. "But we will be one day. If you keep your record in here clean. Only you and I know about Figgins. And neither of us is going to tell. If you take that screwdriver from your underboob, your record can remain clean. And you don't have to be here for the rest of your life. Don't let this prison mentality consume you, Santana. Give me the screwdriver, before you get in trouble for that, too."

Santana sighed heavily. She squinted, tilted your head, then looked up at Brittany as she lifted her shirt. "You always make sense, B."

Brittany laughed softly as she leaned down. She placed a hand on Santana's waist then grabbed the edge of the duct tape. "Now let me get that for you…"

* * *

Rachel walked into the office to find Finn hunched over a sandwich. Things had been understandably tense between them over the past couple of days and Rachel didn't really know how to fix it. Every time she had attempted to discuss their impasse, Finn would stop her and simply ask was she ready to get married. When Rachel's only response was to fidget and avoid eye contact, Finn told her that he wasn't going to talk until she answered the question.

So here they were. Rachel hesitantly walked over to the table and took residence across from Finn. She opened her lunchbox and fished out a bowl of vegan lasagna.

They ate in silence as Rachel stole glances at Finn in wonderment. She wondered, for the first time in her life, what she saw in him—objectively. She reasoned his height called to some ancient and evolutionary part of her that sought out protection in a significant other. Then she remembered that he was funny…in high school, and charming…in high school. And he made her feel good back when she used to need another person in order to feel worthy, validated.

She sat up a little straighter in her seat upon the realization that she no longer _needed_ someone to always be there so much as wanted. It was a major difference, and Rachel wondered at what point during her NYADA journey had she grown enough courage to stand on her own two feet.

But there was still the question of whether she loved Finn, and Rachel knew she did. But he didn't light a fire under her anymore, and with how mundane her life had become as of late, Rachel was beginning to notice.

"Finn, I—"

"Do you want to marry me?"

The million dollar question that continually stopped her in her tracks. Rachel sighed, and walked to the microwave to heat her pasta.

* * *

After a sufficiently awkward lunch, Rachel was even more positive that this was the perfect idea to improve morale in the prison and shake her life up from the monotony it had sunken in to. With determination, she marched down the hallway, bypassing several inmates without so much as an ounce of fear creeping upon her.

At the very end of the hallway, Quinn watched Rachel waltz across the floor as if she owned the place. Quinn stood from the table and threw the deck of cards down before walking to her cell. She blatantly ignored Santana and Brittany who were looking at her as if she had grown an extra head.

They followed Quinn into her cell. "What the hell was that?"

Quinn glanced over her shoulder at Santana. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was like a crackle of lightning or something," Brittany observed with an eager smile. "Are you and Berry, like, doing it?"

Quinn's eyes widened in indignation. "What, _no_. That's really inappropriate and gross."

"Not gross, she's hot," Santana weighed in with a shrug of her shoulders. "I say go for it. No reason to be in here for your whole sentence without wacking your jack off."

"I don't have a jack to wa—you know what? I'm not doing this, _or_ her. She's my tutor. That's it."

"But you at least, you know, touch yourself, though, right?"

Quinn looked at the two of them in utter confusion. "_Excuse_ me?"

Santana just gawked at her. "Damn it, Fabray, not wonder you're always uptight. You've been here three years! You haven't wacked it yet?"

Brittany squirmed in discomfort just thinking about it. "I would explode."

"No wonder you were practically spraying the hallway when Berry walked by."

Quinn's lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay, nope, I'm done. My sex life is off the table. What do the two of you want?"

The pair sobered considerably, and Quinn looked between them in worry. "What is it?" She seriously couldn't tolerate any more bad news.

Santana glanced down at her feet then up at Quinn again. "I can't go through with it," she admitted.

Quinn's expression hardened. "Then I will."

"No…you won't." Santana sucked her teeth. "This isn't us, Fabray, and B helped me see that."

"_What_ isn't us?"

"Murder," Brittany answered. "We've always been rivals with Sullivan and the rest of them. But no one's ever killed anyone. Whether we've taken the time to realize it or not, a definite line has been drawn between what's acceptable and what's not."

Quinn folded her arms. "Yeah, I highly doubt the reason why they haven't killed any of us is because they live by some moral code, Pierce."

"Watch it," Santana warned.

"Truthfully, they probably just don't want a longer sentencing or the death penalty," Brittany admitted. "And neither do we."

"Mack has been the _best_ friend and sometimes the _only_ friend I've ever had," Quinn declared fiercely. "I will _not_ let this go. As a matter of fact, move, I'll do it myself." She pressed forward to move past them, when both Brittany and Santana reached out to grab a hold of her.

Quinn squirmed in their grip as she glared out into the hallway. "Get the _fuck_ off me!"

"You're fighting the wrong fucking people here, Fabray," Santana grunted.

"She's our _fucking_ family, and _neither_ of you even care to avenge her!" Quinn growled. She ripped away from Santana's grip, only to be gripped around the waist by Brittany. They slammed into each other face first, chests heaving against each other for breath.

Santana stood back and surveyed the situation. "Even though I've always had a thing for blonde on blonde, you touch her in any way and I will end you, Fabray."

Brittany's lips quirked as she stared down at Quinn. "Tired now?"

Quinn ignored her and looked away. She knew from personal experience of being restrained much like she was now that years of dance had built Brittany like an ox. Quinn pulled away as best she could in the vise-like hold. "She's my family, Pierce."

"She's our family, Fabray. And we _will_ avenge her," Brittany promised. "But maybe we can do as more of an eye for an eye approach?"

Two pairs of eyes turned to her in surprise that she had actually thought of something.

"B…"

"What did you have in mind?"

Brittany's eyes twinkled. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Rachel sat with her legs crossed in the cushioned chair in front of Schuester's desk. She glanced around to notice how the office was starting to come into its own, with various knickknacks here and there.

Officer Schuester sat forward in his seat. "You wanted to see me, Berry?"

She smiled in excitement. "Yes, Officer Schuester. I wanted to inform you of my idea to help boost morale within the prison."

Officer Schuester leaned back in his chair in surprise. He hadn't actually expected any results. "Berry, I have to say, the fact that you did any research at all is amazing. I've been trying to get the other officers to care about this place for quite some time now."

"I know what you mean." Rachel leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk. "Quite honestly, I'm starting to thinking no one cares about the inmates at all."

"Well hopefully you and I can start to change that. What was your idea?"

"Officer Schuester, prepare to have your socks knocked off," Rachel warned. "For I present to you the idea to have…a _glee_ _club_."

* * *

"Get the hell off of me! Get off of me!" Ronnie roared, fighting viciously against Officer Puckerman, Sylvester, and Smythe.

Puck grunted as he secured one of her arms. "Now I've always had a thing for the feisty big ones, but you need to calm it down."

"Try to keep it in your pants, Puckerman," Sue retorted.

Sebastian secured her other arm. "I got her. Whose got the cuffs?"

"Here!"

"Fucking get off me! I didn't steal that screwdriver! I was framed!"

"Tell it to someone who cares." Sue stood back to take a moment and survey her handiwork. She looked around at the crowd of prisoners surrounding her. "You see what happens when you take tools from the shop? You get sent to the hole. Let this be a lesson to you all."

Terri stood with her arms folded, visibly angry with Kitty and Sheila flanking her as they watched Ronnie struggle in her handcuffs. Terri's jaw clenched as she made eye contact with Sebastian. He looked away. "Everyone back to your cells!" he shouted.

"I didn't do it!" Ronnie continued to yell as she was hauled away.

The crowd slowly began to disperse, everyone gossiping as they walked away.

"This has your stink all over it, Fabray," Terri hissed from across the hallway.

Quinn smirked. "You know what they say: an eye for an eye."

Brittany smiled.

Terri released a frustrated noise and stormed back in her cell. "Watch your back," Kitty sassed.

Quinn looked unimpressed. "You want to be me so badly," she accused.

"As if!"

Brittany tuned out the conversation as she searched for a certain pair of eyes. She spotted Emma in the doorway of her cell. Emma turned to look at her. Brittany offered a smile and a thankful wink before turning around and walking back to her cell, Santana and Quinn in tow.

"Can we have our breadsticks now?"

Brittany turned toward Santana with a carefree smile. "Please."

* * *

"_Breathe, B, breathe," Santana demanded as Brittany began to hyperventilate. It had been nearly a week since they had managed to rob the bank and escaped without getting caught, and with each passing day, the guilt Brittany felt over accidentally shooting that bank teller seemed to amplify._

_Brittany gasped breath after breath as she attempted to listen to Santana's instructions. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, had been since the day they had robbed the bank. It was being sensationalized by every news network, and every time Brittany turned on the TV, she was once again reminded that she had killed a man._

_When her shaking shoulders lost vigor, Santana pulled back from their embrace. She surveyed Brittany, gnawing on her lower lip. "I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" She walked toward the door yet stopped at the threshold when she heard Brittany's barely there whisper._

"_I can't do this, Santana."_

_Santana's shoulders sunk as she sighed. "I know, B. I know."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **The Caged Bird's Song

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **Hitting a dead end in her life, Rachel procures a job at a prison just outside of Lima, Ohio by way of prison guard, Finn Hudson. Dreams deferred, the last thing Rachel expected was to have her ambition restored by a reticent inmate and her band of detainees.

* * *

_Ashley placed a hand on Mack's shoulder. "We've got some premium, grade A shit for you today, Mack."_

_Mack stumbled into the room behind Ashley. Her hands shook where they were clasped in front of her as she observed the powdery substance lined in rows atop the table._

"_Now it's a bit more expensive, but the high is better. Trust me."_

_Scrambling to dig money out of her pocket, Mack came across two twenty dollar bills she had stolen out of Quinn's wallet. _

_Ashley's eyes widened at the amount of money. "Okay."_

_Mack panicked. "What, is that not enough? Do you need more?"_

_Ashley observed her for a moment. "Yeah…it's a bit more expensive."_

_Mack pulled out more money. "Can I just have some now?"_

_Ashley grinned. "Sure, Mack. Sure."_

* * *

"A glee club," Officer Schuester broke the news with an enthused laugh. He wrapped his arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Brought to us by our very own!"

Leaning against a wall in the back of the room, Finn scowled through the crowd at the two of them.

"I'll allow Berry to elaborate on the idea."

Rachel took a step forward to address the room. "Fellow officers, it is with great pleasure I present to you the idea of having a Lima Penitentiary Glee Club. There are three levels of competitions with other competing prisons: sectionals, regionals, and nationals. With each level won, monetary rewards are afforded to the winning prison—"

"Sounds like a waste of my time," Sue griped before taking a sip of her coffee.

"—_and_," Rachel continued, undeterred, "and to the salary of the employees."

Puck stood straighter. "Wait, what? Increased pay?"

Rachel nodded, confident she had caught everyone's attention. "State government can't afford to increase funding to every prison every year, so this was the next best option. They piggybacked on the already implemented prison glee idea, and for the last four or so years, money has been a prize along with a giant trophy and bragging rights."

Officer Schuester could barely contain his enthusiasm. "Isn't this a wonderful idea, everyone?"

Sue was the first to offer her two cents. "Sounds stupid. These inmates need stricter discipline, not more extracurricular activities."

"This isn't just another extracurricular, Sylvester," Schuester argued. "This _is_ discipline. It's a way for guards and prisoners to bridge the dangerous gap between us. The gap that got Figgins killed."

"Oh, _now_ you choose to care about his death? When I was busting my ass trying to catch the scumbag who killed him, you were the one dragging me back by my collar because the inmates were getting '_uncomfortable_.'"

"_This_ is where they have to live day and night. Essentially _this_ is their home. They have a right to be comfortable, within reason."

Rachel nodded. "Just because they're inmates doesn't mean they should be denied basic rights to be treated as human."

"They forfeited those rights when they chose to commit the crimes that landed them here," Tanaka spoke up.

"That's exactly what I've been saying," Finn agreed. He walked across the room and through the small crowd of officers to come face to face with Rachel. "I think a glee club is a bad idea."

Rachel's mouth clacked shut. She folded her arms across her chest and pointedly looked away. "Guys, this could be _fun_," she insisted. "Just because we work in a prison doesn't mean our job has to be doom and gloom all day. O-okay, we can actually have a chance to bond with the inmates while we sing and dance."

Kurt lifted his hand. "Honestly? You had me at _glee_. Tired of always having to be so uptight and serious around here all the time," he grumbled.

"I agree," Sebastian offered.

Burt jammed his hands in his pockets. "I just don't think prison should be _fun_."

Sue, Tanaka, and Finn hummed in agreement.

Puck looked around at everyone. "But we get bank for this, right?"

"If we win any of the various levels of competition, Puckerman," Rachel answered. "Which, with my coaching, I'm sure we will."

"Is there a sign-up sheet for coaching?" Kurt asked. "Because I'd so like to sign up."

"There isn't even a glee club yet," Finn cut in.

"But there _could_ be," Rachel retaliated with a little more edge to her voice than she intended.

Finn narrowed his eyes.

Schuester steepled his fingers together and placed his joined hands on his head. "Uh, why don't we take some time to think about it, guys?"

Mike, who had yet to offer his opinion, nodded.

"Take a day or so, and we'll all come back and put it to a vote."

"Here we go with the voting. My vote is going to be no. Would you like for me to write it down now, just so you know?"

He sighed. "No, Officer Sylvester, that won't be necessary."

Sue was already walking toward the stack of sticky-notes on the table. "I'm just going to write this down."

The other offers began to disperse to their posts, gearing up for the inmates to exit their cells and begin their day.

Rachel followed Finn out of the office. "What the hell was that?"

His back stiffened at her tone. She rarely swore. Finn turned to face her. "What was what?"

"That was spite." Rachel glared up at him. "That was a blatant attack on me via my idea about a glee club."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta get to my post."

"I get that you're mad at me right now," she called after him. "But have some professionalism, Finn."

He paused for a second, chuckled bitterly to himself, then continued down the hallway. "Whatever you say."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Officer Schue?"

"Zizes."

Lauren grinned. "Charmed."

Schuester leaned forward in his seat. He glanced at the door that was securely closed then to the window in his room with the blinds drawn shut. "It's no mystery to anyone that you and your crew are around here supplying marijuana."

Lauren's eyes widened behind her glasses. "Officer Schue, we haven't been selling since you shut us down that one time."

Schuester loosened his tie to make room for the lump he swallowed down his throat. He changed tactics and leaned back in his seat to appear nonchalant. "That's a lie, Zizes, and we all know it."

"But Officer Schue—"

"Now if I were to have officer Tanaka search your room right now, would he find any?"

Lauren remained tight-lipped.

Schuester nodded. "That's what I thought. Listen, I'm not here to bust you today. What I want is a sample of what you're selling."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why? So you can smoke it?"

"So I can ensure what you're selling isn't laced with cocaine or some other drug."

"Schuester, my girls and I are square. Strictly chronic. Makes some people sleep at night, makes others survive in this place without going insane."

Officer Schuester scratched at his head. The drug problem around the prison was truly going to be something he would have to take care of one day. But for now, if weed was the one thing keeping some of these inmates from completely losing it, he had no choice but to allow it until he could fully change the way things were ran around here and hopefully give them something to live for other than drugs. "Get me a sample," he reiterated sternly, "and you won't have to go into solitary confinement for two weeks—"

"Oh, come on, Schue!"

"—for selling _drugs_ in a _prison_. I don't even know the protocol for repeat drug offenders right off hand. You may have to spend an entire month in there."

Zizes remained quiet for a moment. She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. "I'll get you a sample."

Officer Schuester smiled. "You're helping make this prison a better place, really."

"Yeah, whatever."

He frowned.

* * *

Terri grabbed a tray at the back of the line then strolled past the line of inmates waiting to be served. She forced herself in front of an inmate without so much as an apology.

"Yo, what the fuck—"

Terri swiveled around with a grim expression on her face to allow the inmate to see just who she was talking to. "Come again?"

The inmate said nothing more and turned away.

Terri turned around to face Quinn. "Heard Mack gets out today," she said as she followed the line downward and received a scoop of potatoes.

"So she does."

"Two weeks can really change a person."

"Funny, you spent two weeks there and came out just as crazy as when you went in."

Terri scowled at the remark. She followed Quinn out to line to be greeted with Santana and Brittany standing there waiting. "Oh, look, the gang's all here," she announced in a blasé tone of voice.

Santana stared on, unimpressed. "She giving you trouble, Fabray?"

"Just a lot of lip service, and not the good kind."

Terri stiffened. "We all know the only clit-lickers in this dump are you guys," she spat.

"Look around. It's _prison_," Santana pointed out. "You're the minority here, dick-sitter."

"You know what, why don't you go?" Quinn suggested. "Just run along to your little clique of three. Our fourth member is coming soon, and we need you to step aside to make room for her."

A sick smile touched Terri's face. "Don't be so sure of that." With that, she walked away.

Brittany watched her go. "Don't be so sure of what?"

Quinn watched her go. "She's just blowing smoke out of her ass. Come on."

They sat at their usual table, but with the knowledge that Mack would soon be returning, her absence wasn't as heavily felt for Quinn as it normally was. "Look, I know it's short notice, but do you think you can get your hands on some pruno for Mack? I kind of want to give her a little something since I'm sure the past fourteen days without using has been rough."

Santana nodded in sympathy. "True, bet that little fucker's been jonesing. But who am I getting pruno from?"

"Cohen-Chang makes the best," Brittany supplied.

Santana sighed. "What weird shit is that chick gonna want in exchange?"

"She goes through black lipstick like underwear, so I'll stop by the shop and buy some crayons today and get my hands on a lighter. I just don't have class with her anymore, so—"

"Yeah, I'll give it to her," Santana finished.

"Awesome, thanks."

Santana nudged Brittany then gestured toward Quinn. "Look at this bitch right here, smiling and shit."

Quinn's frown was instantaneous. "Cut it out, Lopez."

* * *

Schuester placed the dime-bag on his desk he had acquired from Lauren and stared at it. Reaching for his walkie-talkie, he pressed the button along the side then hesitated. Biting the corner of his lip, Schuester sighed and leaned back in his seat.

He rubbed along his forehead, then firmed his lips and sat up in his seat. "Officer Chang, will you report to my office, please?"

"No problem," Mike radioed back, ever the laid-back guard. Schuester's shoulders slumped.

Moments later there was a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Mike opened the door and walked in with a breezy smile on his face. "You wanted to see me, Officer Schue?"

"Yeah, Chang, have a seat."

He plopped down in the chair in front of Schuester's desk. "What's up?"

Schuester inhaled a deep breath then dove into action. "I happened to find _this_ in your locker today," he informed Mike in a stern voice, gesturing toward the marijuana on his desk.

Mike, for the first time, noticed what exactly was on his desk. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Officer Schuester, what the hell is that?"

It was the first time Schuester had heard him swear, and he simultaneously felt mildly amused and guilty. However, his brow line remained firm as he glared across his desk at Mike. "It's marijuana, Officer Chang. I found marijuana in your locker, and you could potentially be suspended for this."

For the first time since he was hired on the force, Mike looked terrified. His breathing grew labored as he grasped at his hair.

"It's a serious offense, Officer Chang."

"I know, I—" A puff of air escaped his lungs. "Officer Schuester, I've never even _seen_ weed a day in my life," he promised.

Schuester looked down at the bag then back up at Mike. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. I _found_ this in _your_ locker."

Mike's eyes narrowed. "Are you even allowed to go in our lock—"

"Officer Chang, you could be _fired_ for this," Schuester quickly cut in to steer the conversation.

All color drained from Mike's face. "I need this job, Officer Schue."

"I know you do—"

"My dad will _kill_ me!" Mike added, frantic. "He's already ashamed that I'm a prison guard and not a doctor. I can't bring anymore shame to my family, Officer Schue."

Unable to look at him, Schuester dropped his gaze. "I get that, Officer Chang."

"How—how could this have even _happened_?"

Schuester's eyes widened once it became obvious Mike was looking toward him for answers. "I, uh, I saw an inmate sneaking around back here earlier, must have sneaked past Tanaka; you know he's kinda lazy."

Officer Chang followed along as if this all made sense.

"As a matter of fact…I think that's who put the weed there," Schuester added. "Who knows how long she was back here; it's feasible."

"Who was it?"

"Honestly, I can't remember."

"So then that's it? I'm off the hook?" Mike asked eagerly.

Schuester's eyes widened. "Now hold on. I said it's _possible_. But there's also the possibility that it was yours, Officer Chang."

"But it _wasn't_!"

"Now the ramifications for this are pretty steep," he admitted, reaching into his desk for a handbook. He made a show of flipping through it. "What to do when an officer is caught with drugs…"

Mike reached across the desk to grab Schuester's wrist. "Officer Schue, you gotta help me, please," he pleaded. "I've been a great employee since day one. I've always shown up to work on time, done my job, and gone home. I promise I don't do drugs. That isn't mine. You gotta help me out here."

Schuester pried his hand away and closed the handbook. He pretended to think for a moment. "Actually, Officer Chang, I think I can make this go away."

Mike's eyes shined with hope. "Really?"

"We can both walk out of here and pretend this whole incident didn't happen. I would just need one thing from you."

"Anything, Officer Schue, _anything_."

Schuester smiled. "I need to know I have your vote in favor of a glee club."

Mike nodded frantically. "Done, done, _so_ done."

* * *

She thought she was imagining it, the sound of her cell door being opened. Mack's head lolled to the side toward the sound. She was completely disheveled. Hair mussed, it was beginning to mat in the back of her head. She hadn't showered in fourteen days, and was at a near constant state of starvation despite the meals.

Realization that she wasn't hallucinating came to her when the cell door opened. Sebastian stepped inside with a pair of handcuffs in his hand.

Mack just stared at him with listless eyes.

Sebastian jingled the cuffs in his hand as if he were summoning a dog. "Come on, Galiano."

She blinked slowly then slinked off the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Sebastian asked as he placed the cuffs on her wrists.

"Dead."

He frowned, shifting from foot to foot. "Let's just get you to your cell."

"I want a new one."

"You can take that up with Schuester."

They walked down the hallway and Mack looked at every cell she passed. It was terrifying to think of how many inmates were in solitary, experiencing the same loneliness and distress she had felt.

"This way," Sebastian instructed. Passing a doorway, Mack noticed they were in the guard's wing. Tanaka passed them with a cup of coffee in his hand and she spied Puck down the hallway.

Mack stopped short when Rachel came barreling out of an office, nearly running into her.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel apologized. "I—Galiano." She smiled. "You're out. I'm sure Fabray will be happy to have you back."

At the mention of Quinn, Mack frowned. "I wouldn't trust her if I were you, Berry."

The smile on Rachel's face melted away. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Quinn is nothing but a manipulator," Mack stressed. "She uses you for what she needs, and when she's done, she tosses you aside like you're garbage."

Sebastian tugged on Mack's arm. "That's enough, Galiano."

"We all came up with the plan together," Mack hissed as Sebastian pulled her along. "She was gonna use you to get little privileges here and there because you work here."

Rachel looked positively horrified as Sebastian pulled Mack along. "Sorry, Berry," he apologized.

But the damage was done. Embarrassed, Rachel glanced around the hall to make sure no one heard what had just transpired. She mentally fought against the way her heart constricted. It shouldn't matter that Quinn had attempted to use her. She was nothing more than an inmate.

She knew she was in trouble when her eyes began to mist over, and she walked to the nearest bathroom for a moment of privacy.

Down the hallway, Mack entered Officer Schuester's office and plopped down in the chair in front of his desk.

Schuester took her in. She looked awfully disheveled, gaunt. He adjusted his tie. "It's nice to see you're out of solitary, Galiano."

"I want another roommate," Mack responded to move things along.

Officer Schuester sighed. "That's going to take a lot of paper work, and probably won't happen until next week," he admitted.

Mack's fists clenched in her lap, the cuffs clanking as she leaned forward. "Let me make myself clear. I no longer want to be near Quinn. And I won't be held accountable for what would happen to her if I have to look at that stupid mug of hers every day."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's me asking for a transfer." Mack smiled. "Please."

Officer Schuester couldn't shake the feeling he was being worked over. He reached into his drawer for the stack of paperwork he would have to start. "I'll see what I can do. For now, just hang out in the common area."

"Much better." Mack stood from her seat and walked out of the room. As soon as they rounded the corner, Mack stopped and turned to him. "Give it here."

Sebastian's eyes widened in alarm as he looked around them. "You crazy bitch; keep it down!" he whispered harshly. "I could get fired then thrown in prison for this."

Mack stepped closer. "Then I suggest you give it here. Before I march right back into Schuester's office and let him know you've been supplying me this whole time."

Sebastian swallowed a lump down his throat. "You wouldn't."

"Do you really want to find out?"

He gnawed on his lower lip, shaking his head at her in contempt as he reached into his pocket. "I hope you overdose."

Mack shrugged and nodded all at once. "Me too."

* * *

Rachel stormed into the class room.

Quinn looked up from her book. "You're late."

"How dare you?" Rachel demanded.

Her face began to wrinkle in confusion. "Wha—"

"How _dare_ you?" she shouted, slamming her hands on the table.

Lips bawled up, Quinn glared up at Rachel from where she was seated, placing the book down. "I don't know what you're talking ab—"

"Don't bother, Quinn." Rachel glowered down at her. "I'm so sick of-of-of the _lies_ and manipulation."

Quinn slowly stood from her seat, genuinely confused. "Rachel, what are you—"

"You've been using me! Galiano already informed me of the way you've been working me over since I got here. Telling me I was hot? Offering to teach me how to walk in a taller pair of heels 'at a price?' Yeah." All of her shouting and anger left her short of breath, and Rachel's chest heaved as she attempted to fill her lungs.

Quinn's expression went blank. Anger began to bubble just under the surface, and she glanced away from the raging bull in front of her in order to maintain her calm.

Rachel grew incensed in the face of Quinn's silence. She leaned over the table between them in an attempt to capture Quinn's attention. "Damn it, Quinn, it's like high school all over again! I always manage to get myself roped into the popular girl's web."

A dark, humorless laugh slithered from Quinn's throat. "You're a long way from high school, Berry."

"Am I?" Rachel mocked. "That's exactly what they used to call me in high school—Berry. Because for some reason I wasn't worthy of having my first name used."

Fed up, Quinn began to walk around the table. "Rachel."

Rachel retreated. "And I was stupid enough to believe that someone as beautiful and intelligent as you was genuinely interested in me." She watched Quinn advance on her and as soon as Quinn grabbed her arm, Rachel twisted away. "Don't touch me," she demanded.

Quinn reached out for her again, this time wrapping an arm around Rachel's waist. She grasped a wrist and twisted it behind Rachel's back.

"Don't touch me!" Rachel ordered again, though she did little to thwart Quinn walking her backward into the counter behind them. It provided resistance, and when Quinn stepped forward again, their bodies touched. Rachel inhaled a deep breath and held it, her other hand awkwardly hanging in the air, unsure of where to go.

Quinn leaned closer until they were nose to nose. "Stop yelling at me," she growled.

Rachel felt her thighs quiver at Quinn's tone. Her arm began to hurt from being pressed against the counter, but the compulsion to fight back was mysteriously missing.

"Now I'm not one to force myself on anyone," Quinn informed her. "So if you don't want this, say so." Their noses brushed against one another as Quinn leaned in just that much more. She paused for a moment to allow Rachel a chance to protest, then leaned in and pressed their lips together.

Rachel's hand behind her back clenched into a tight fist, and Quinn could feel the tendons flexing against the palm of her hand. Their lips slid across each other with ease their verbal interactions had yet to master. Rachel tried her best to stand tall, but found her knees weakening, and she flung her free arm around Quinn's neck in an attempt to hold on. Her mouth opened like a fish out of water as she kissed Quinn vigorously.

Quinn moaned in surprise at the enthusiasm she was met with. She reveled in the soft warmth Rachel's mouth provided. It had been well over three years since she had kissed someone this way, and she found herself craving physical affection for the first time in her life. A slippery tongue flicked across her bottom lip, and Quinn thought she would lose it.

She gripped Rachel's hip with one hand then pulled away.

The only sounds to fill the silence were their panting breaths as the two of them attempted to wrap their heads around the situation. Quinn's eyes clenched shut. "Do you honestly think I would have put up with how aggravating you are if I didn't want you?"

Rachel shivered, despite her sarcastic comment. "How very charming you are." Her arm flexed to find Quinn's hand still gripping her wrist and she moaned, tightening her hold on Quinn's neck and rising up on the tips of her toes to kiss her again. She flexed her wrist to feel herself securely in Quinn's grip and whimpered, struggling against the counter to get closer as she thrusted her tongue in Quinn's mouth.

She panted heavily into Quinn's mouth as the passion Rachel felt threatened to consume her. She felt Quinn shuffle closer until a leg rested unassumingly in front of her. Rachel's eyes slipped shut as she began to spread her legs, tossing her head back.

Quinn watched the wanton display with blown pupils. "Rachel…"

"_Hudson, I need you over at A-block."_

The pair jumped apart at the sound of Rachel's walkie-talkie across the room. Rachel brought her hands to her face in her best _Home_ _Alone_ impression while her mind began to spiral.

Quinn licked her lips, tasting the lip gloss Rachel was wearing. It had been years since Quinn had worn any herself, and nostalgia hit her hard.

"Okay…" Rachel rubbed her lips together, staring at the carpeted floors. "What the hell just happened?"

Perplexed, Quinn sought distance and walked toward the other side of the room to lean back against the table and face Rachel. "I guess time finally told the rest."

"Mhm, okay." Rachel nodded, looking for answers in the walls that surrounded her. She glanced at Quinn leaning against the table with her arms folded, and her lesson plans on the table beside her. She stepped away from the counter. "I can't do this."

Quinn's chest heaved with an annoyed breath. She watched Rachel begin to meander toward the door then pushed off the table. "Don't bother," she spat as she strolled across the room without an ounce of hesitancy then walked out.

Chest constricting, Rachel tried her best to breath. There was a sharp throb between her legs that she tried her best to ignore as she slowly walked to the table and began packing her things. She grabbed Quinn's book with misty eyes, then fell into her seat and sobbed.

* * *

Her feet stomped against the floor as Quinn stormed down the hallway with her fists clenched at her side. Inmates began whispering as they stared at her, but Quinn barely noticed them. With all the blood rushing through her head she felt like she had tunnel vision, could only see what was directly in front of her, and could hear no more than dull murmuring.

Santana walked out of her cell to see what all the commotion was about. "Shit." When she saw Quinn breeze past her, blonde hair following, she took off to follow. "Fabray, what's up?"

Not even breaking stride, Quinn said nothing.

Santana was left with no choice but to follow.

She recognized the cell Quinn was headed toward immediately and slowed her pace. "Wait, are you sure about this?" Santana reached out to grab Quinn's arm. "_Fabray_, are you in there?"

Quinn turned to look at her with wild eyes. "You can either stay or go, Lopez." She turned to walk into the cell toward the bed.

Santana stood by the doorway to take in everyone in the room. To her surprise— "Mack?"

Just as she said it, Quinn drew her hand back and slapped Mack across the face.

Kitty remained seated on the floor, but Sheila stood up with her fists at her side.

Santana walked further into the room. "Lay a finger on her and I'll rip it off."

Mack lifted a hand. "Don't worry about it. It's fine." She dragged her tongue along the inside of her stinging cheek. "Hello, Quinn. You look pissed."

"You wouldn't rat these guys out, but you'd snitch on me?" Quinn admonished, looking down her nose at Mack. "What kind of family is that?"

Mack sneered at her mention of family. She stood from the bed to come nose to nose with Quinn. "An eye for an eye, wasn't that what you said?"

Standing beside the bed, Terri smirked.

Santana glanced down at Quinn's clenched fists and stepped further into the room. "Fabray, let's go," she barked. They were severely outnumbered and she was sure if Quinn tossed any more licks, they would end up dead.

Quinn glared at the person she had called a friend for five years. Her lower lip quivered in both anger and anguish as she announced with finality, "We're through."

Mack sucked her teeth. "Don't let Sheila hit you on the way out."

Sheila stepped closer, putting Santana on edge. "Fabray, let's go."

Quinn shook her head in disgust. She stepped away from Mack and walked out of the room.

"What the hell was that?" Santana shouted once they were back in Quinn's cell.

Quinn ripped the artwork she had done for Mack off the wall and proceeded to rip it to pieces.

"Fabray," Santana enunciated with more bass in her voice. "_What _was that?"

"She fucking snitched on me!" Quinn roared. "That bitch told Rachel I was using her!"

Santana paused at the name drop. "And? Abort the mission and live to fight another day! What do you care?"

Quinn glanced at her, jaw clenched, then looked away. She plopped down on her bed and rested her face in her hands.

"Holy shit," Santana uttered in the silence. "You do care."

Quinn ignored her and tried her best to breathe while she stared down at the gray floor.

Santana muttered an expletive under her breath. Hesitantly, she placed a supportive hand on Quinn's back. "What happened?"

Quinn looked at her with narrowed eyes and shrugged her hand off. "My best friend of five years turned on me over the course of a day and formed an alliance with who had been our common enemy. And now I'm supposed to trust _you_?"

Santana hopped up from her seat, enraged. "At what _fucking_ point have I _ever_ given you reason to question my loyalty, Fabray?" she shouted down at her. "Fucking answer that!"

"Okay, okay," Quinn relented, eyes closed as she tried to think her headache away. "Sorry."

"Damn right you are."

Quinn looked up at her when Santana had yet to take a seat. "I'm sorry, Lopez," she tried again. "Can you sit now?"

"Ain't gonna sit here and question my loyalty," Santana muttered as she sat down beside Quinn once more.

Quinn rubbed a hand down her face. "I kissed her," she admitted.

Santana gawked at her. "Berry? _Seriously_, Fabray?"

"I know, I know, I know." Quinn groaned and hid her face in her hands, embarrassed. "I'm such an idiot."

Santana shrugged. "Hey, get it how you live."

Despite everything, Mack snitching on her, and Rachel running, Quinn laughed. It was a relieved sound mixed with a little dark humor given her situation. "Thanks."

Santana leaned back to rest her hands on the bed. "It gets lonely in here," she admitted in a solemn voice. "Hell, I have Brittany, and there are still days when I feel…so alone."

Quinn nodded along though she remained tight-lipped.

"You've been in here three years without feeling what it's like to touch someone, hell even _yourself_." Santana chuckled. "It was only a matter of time before that need to connect with another human won out."

Thoughts of how warm and soft Rachel felt in her hands, against her body, against her mouth assaulted her brain, and Quinn felt weak in the face of the craving Santana was speaking of.

"We're human. And though we pretend to be hardened monsters in here day in and day out in order to just survive, at the end of the day we need love, fam. It's natural." Santana shook out of her thoughts and glanced over to Quinn. "Do you like her?"

Quinn shrugged a shoulder. "She's okay."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever. If you care about her, then I would keep this under wraps. She'd lose her job for this."

"Yeah, I know." Quinn leaned back on her bed to mimic Santana's position. Truthfully, she didn't know much of anything at this point, and it scared her. "I know."

* * *

_There was a steady beeping sound in the room that was annoying. Her limbs felt incredibly heavy. Mack didn't know much of anything beyond the fact that she was alive, and she wasn't even too sure about that._

"_I know you're awake. I can see your eye balls moving."_

_The voice sounded hostile, and instinctively, Mack began to pry her eyes open to see who it was. The lights above her were startlingly bright and she clenched her eyes shut before opening them again._

_The woman sitting at her bedside wasn't Quinn, that much Mack had already known. She wasn't even her own mother. She was…her dealer, the absolute last person Mack wanted to see right now. "Where's Quinn?"_

"_She's in jail," Ashley spat._

_Shocked, Mack attempted to sit up, only to find resistance in the form of numerous wires she was connected to. She glanced toward the IV in her arm then toward the machine beside her and only then did I occur to her that the annoying sound she had been hearing was her own heartbeat._

_So she had overdosed after all._

_The knowledge was sobering. Mack turned to the woman. "Why is Quinn in jail?"_

"_She burned down my crackhouse because you fucking OD'd, you crazy crackhead!"_

_Mack's jaw dropped. She heard loud talking outside her door and turned to find the nurse arguing with two taller men._

"_She may not even be awake yet."_

_One of the men, a police officer, Mack was rapidly noticing, made eye contact with her before gently pushing the nurse outside. "She is awake."_

_Mack clutched her blankets as the two men closed in on her._

"_You better not say a word," Ashley whispered in distress._

"_Mackenzie Galiano, you are under arrest for drug possession."_


End file.
